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OWEN MEREDIT'ff. \ 

\^\ 4. ^ ^} 

IN TWO VOLUMES. 

VOL. L- 
CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 



/AMA. - f v.i^^£»^^^. i7^-C<Aj?' 




4' 



BOSTON: 

TICKNOR ANI> FIELDS, 

I 868. 






AUTHOR S EDITION. 



By Tranefiar 
Dept. of State 

DEC 1 1935 



University Press: Welch, Bigelow, & Co., 

Cambridge. 






-^ 




DEDICATION. 



TO 

THEODORE GOMPERZ 

OF VIENNA. 



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EAR FRIEND ; — The Book now in- 
scribed to you was planned and begun 
many years ago, during a period of my 
life which I passed in pleasant inter- 
course with yourself and others who are dear to 
us both. Some feW of its contents are already 
known to you, and have indeed been bettered by 
your criticism. They will now, however, for the 
first time come before you completed, and in such 
order as best befits the general design to which, 
notwithstanding their varieties of form and sub- 
ject, they each and all belong. I presume not to 
hope from many readers that patient perusal 
which, nevertheless, I claim as a preliminary to 
any final judgment of a work which has occupied 
nearly seven years of my life. But, if it be hon- 
ored by y^Dur own, I shall believe that it also 



iv DEDICATION. 

merits the approbation of all who, like yourself, 
have never held shares in any Joint- Stock Com- 
pany for the formation of Opinion with Limited 
Liability. Many such men there are not. A few 
such men I know. I desire their sympathies ; 
and, in that desire, I do homage to their virtues. 

Your ever well-wisher, 

ROBERT LYTTON. 

CiNTRA, 3<f September^ 1867. 




CONTENTS. 




CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

OOK I. Legendary Greece 
Tales from Herodotus. Prelude . 
I. Opis and Arge 
II. Croesus and Adi'astus 
III. Gyges and Candaules . 
Imperantb Tiberio .... 



PAGE 

I 
3 
5 

28 

. 44 

59 
. 61 

109 

. Ill 
116 

. lao 
129 

" V. The Present 135 

« VI. The Future . . . . . . 146 

Genseric 150 

Irene 152 

Book IV. Neoplatonism i6j 

The Scroll and its Interpreters .... 165 

Book V. Mahombdan Era 217 

Mohammed 219 

The Roses of Saadi. 

I. Moses and the Dervish 231 

II. The Boy and the Ring .... 233 

III. The Eyes of Mahmud 234 

The Apple of Life 237 



Book II. 

Thanatos Athanatou . 

Book III. Lower Empire 
Licinius. 
Part I. The Time 
« n. The Man . 
" III. The Gods . 
" IV. The Past . 



VI 



CONTENTS. 



Book VI. Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries . 257 
The Siege of Constaatiaople. Part I. 

I. The Emperor Isaac 260 

Is sad 262 

And so is his Brother Alexius : who pro- 
poses 26; 

A Party of Pleasure 265 

V. Which ends unpleasantly . . . 267 

VI. Out of the Light, into the Dark . . . 269 
VII. Alexius the Younger flies from Alexius the 

Elder . . . . . . . 269 

And tries his Fortunes and his Friends . 270 

A Great Man T 27a 

And some Notable Men . . . . 274 

Le Valet de Constantinople . . . 282 

A Blind Man sees far 28 j 

Quot homines tot sententiae . . . 285 
The Siege of Constantinople. Part II. 

I. The Emperor makes a Proclamation . . 287 

II. And receives the Ambassadors . . 288 
The Siege of Constantinople. Part III. 

I. How the Emperor picked up what the Devil 

let fall . . . . . . . 300 

II. And how he afterwards gave away what he 



II. 
III. 



IV. 



VIII. 

IX. 
X. 

XI. 
XII. 
XIII. 



no longer possessed . . . , 
III. What was shown to Theocrite, the Monk 
The Siege of Constantinople. Part IV. 

I. Justice ... ... 

11. Armed .... 

III. By Sea and Land 

IV. Is Triumphant 
V. Sicut fumus 

VI. Two Blind Men 
VII. The Doge is obstinate . 
VIII. Vertigo .... 
IX. A Dark Deed . 
X. The Fulness of Time 
XI. The Horses of Lysippus 
XII. And the Lion of St. Mark 
Notes to the Siege of Constantinople 



304 
308 

310 

3" 

312 

315 
316 

319 

320 
321 
322 
323 
324 

32.5 

327 



CONTENTS. 



Vll 



Book VII. Eleventh to Fifteenth Century 
Farewell to the Holy Lands 
Doge Orso's Night's Work . 
Salzburgensis Vagabundus 
A King and a Queen 
Fair Yoland with the Yellow Hair . 
Trial by Combat .... 
Rabbi Ben Ephraim's Treasure 
Catterina Cornaro .... 
Jacqueline . . . • 

Book VIII. FrOm 1525 to 1789 
The Dead Pope .... 
Thomas Miintzer to Martin Luther 
Adolphus, Duke of Guelders . 
The Duke's Laboratory . 
Vanini 



337 
339 
344 
347 
351 
355 
363 
373 
389 
394 
401 

403 
426 
441 
452 
49a 




CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 



BOOK I. 

LEGENDARY GREECE. 

TALES FROM HERODOTUS. 

*'ais (^Tjcrtv e;' rfj irpiOTrj 'HpoSoTos.'' 

Athem^cs. B. xxiii. 




TALES FROM HERODOTUS. 



PRELUDE. 




ITH iiincics that, like phantoms, bear 

The bodies of long-buried men, 
Whose bones are dust, whose spirits are 
air, 
Whose dwellings are the days that were, — 

The suns that will not rise again, — 
A bark, dream-built to drift along 
The tides of other times, I throng ; 

And, helmless, here and there am blown 
Beyond my will, by the Power of Song, 
Erom shore to shore of regions lone 

In sempiternal Even lying 
Glimmeringly, girt by the moan 

Of memories ever dying. 
Like that bewildered Cretan crew 
These old-world-wandering fancies are ; 
Whose course, unsteered by chart or star, 
With tugging sail and slanted deck, 
Latona's newborn offspring blew 
Where'er he willed ; nor could they check 
In the plunging prow the spirit that knew 
Whose sudden hand his speed obeyed ; 



CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

As ever about in the billowy dip 
And briny dance of the beaked ship 

A golden dolphin flasht and played, 
While fast through shallow foam they flew 
Along the shore-locked seas, and fasfe 
Beheld the Elean port slide past, 
And many a wisht-for haven fade, 

And many a slowly-sun-fiusht bay. 
Till faint their staggering keel was stayed 

Off Crissa; when the crimson day 
In lights and ardors manifold 
Was burning all the west away, 
And, bright beyond the harbor bar, 
Brimmed his blue baths with fervid gold : 
Then, o'er the seaborn mountains far, 
And far in Even's inmost hold, 

The weary mariners (thus they say) 
Saw white walls hang in a rosy air ; 
Tor so the god had built them there. 





OP IS AND ARGE, 5 

I. 

OPTS AND AKGE * 

(HERODO-ftTS, iv. 35.) 

AST Ophiusa sailing, long ere morn 
Had stolen beneath the summer stars 

from where 
About the waters' verge in paler air 
The stars are fewest and most large, near land 
The Ortygian mariners their sea-drenched bark 
Moored on the shallow sea, a weary band. 
By Delos, waiting for the dawn ; and there 
{While broken winds, among the mountains born, 
Scarce heaved — the sighing stillness of the dark) 
They heatd, along wild shores of capes forlorn, 
The Hyperborean virgins, hand in hand. 
Sing loud, from lands beyond the wind o' the 

north, 
With mystic music moving down the seas 
Toward Greece, this hymn, whose latest notes 

drew forth 
Pull-crowned sunrise from the Cyclades : 

* In the two succeeding poems the narrative of Herodotus 
has been literally followed ; but in the present instance his 
passing allusion to the supposed introduction into Greece of 
the images of the gods, wrapped up in wheaten straw, by 
two Hyperborean virgins, has been taken only as a text 
for the utterance of some thoughts concerning what is owed, 
on behalf of human culture, to the mythology and art of the 
Greeks. 



6 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

" Sister Arge, sister Arge, shake thy tresses to the 

wind, 
Till the hfe that floods them overfloat the lone air 

with delight ! 
And tread swiftly down the shadows of the starry 
hills that bind 
To the bases of the darkness tliC4iigh silence of 
the night. 
Vu-gin, watcher of the veiled forms, to whom hath 
been consigned 
The divinity enshrined, 
Thou that bearest on thy bosom all the beauty, all 

the might. 
Of the yet-unheard, the yet-unseen, wdience floweth 
sound and sight ; 
Dost thou tremble at the nearness of the time 
that we arc touching ? 
Doth the whitefire leaping in the stars that lead us 
scorch thee blind ? 
Art thou wary of the si}'' and wishful winds that 
would be clutching 
At the shut heart of the blessing we arc bearing to 
mankind 1 
Show not ! show not ! 
Let men know not 
What is coming. For the mind 
Of the world is undefined ; 
And the dark not yet the daystar doth release. 
Wherefore watch ye well, and ward. 
Sister, hold ye fast, and guard 
The sacred sti'aw 
From bruise or flaw, 
And the mystic veil from soil or crease. 
Whilst, unseen but avrare 



OP IS AND ARGE. 7 

And awake, we bear 
The high gods safe to their home in Greece." 

" Sister Opis, sister Opis, I am moving at thy side 
In the power that is upon us : I am treading stride 

for stride 
Down the wonder of the world with thee, undaunt- 
ed by the throng 
Of the startling stars that, brightened by the breath 

of thy clear song, 
Give in glory heaven's gladness forth. But O, th3 

Avay is long 
From the distance of the darkness to the distance 

of the light ! 
And, like a shipman eying 
Along a shoreless sea 
That sliding rippled lane the lucid moon hath 

paven bright. 
Which to sunder, and escape from, all the livelong 

laboring night 
His patient keel is trying ; 
But, with a fond denying. 
It doth ever seem to be 
Where it first was on the waters, and yet, o'er the 

waters ever 
Gliding silent with the ship is still beside it, so 

that never 
Is that watcher any farther from the light that 

leave th dark 
The last wave it leapeth out of ere 't is broken by 

his bark ; 
So my spirit, striving forward, yet doth never find 

release 
From the still-pursuing splendor of the thoughts 

that pass in peace. 



8 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Passing swift from sweet to sweeter, 
Strange to stranger, through completer 

Indications of the stature 

Of the beautiful in nature. 
To the perfect form and feature 

Of the godship of this Greece. 

" I heard a gryphon yelping for his gold across 
a dim 
Blue frostbitten mountain gully, where the rock- 
stream would not flow : 
I outsped the Arimaspian that was outspeeding 
him, 
"Whose one eye, when he beheld me, shrivelled 
blinded in his brow 
With a knowledge premature 
Of what, knowing, to endiu-e, 
Not yet the gods had granted his incompetence-to- 
know. 
And not even so much sound 
As doth lisp around, around, 
In a little whisperous whirl of windy snow, 
My flitting footstep made. 
As it traversed unbetrayed 
The silent iron-colored floors of frozen lakes below 
Those bitter pale Cimmerian skies, 
Whose ghostly suns with blood-red eyes, 
Thick wrapt in frosty film, make wan 
The whited desert of lean plains. 
Where hornless beeves in w^ooden wains 
The Scythian and the Sindian 
Drive, streaking, as unheard they go, 
The echoless white waste with slow 
Dark dotted trains, 



OP IS AND ARGE. 9 

As silent as, through light that lies 
Lone on the verge of evening, flies 
A troop of long-necked cranes. 
And the bald-head Argipsean, 
Beneath his black bean-tree, 
Sat bareheaded in the sun to j udgc the people, as 
I passed. 
But to-night from bowers Euba3an 
Blow sweet odors up the sea, 
And the Grecian beauty breathes into my being 
at the last. 
Yet I show not, 
For I know not, 
What is coming to mankind. 
White the wheat lies on the faces of the folded 
Images : 
And other hands 
In other lands 

Are destined to unbind 
The veil of this Invisible by slowly-sweet degrees. 
Wherefore aye in watch and ward, 
Sister, hold I fast and guard 
The sacred straw 
From bruise Or flaw, 
And the mystic veil from soil or crease, 
Whilst, awake and aware, 
Together we bear 
The high gods safe to their home in Greece." 

A wind, that all night long in Rhodope, 
Waiting release, had crouched with casual thrills 
Of power but half repressed, now leaping free, 
His kindred from the high Keraunian hills 
Called to him athwart the dark ^gean Sea, 



lo CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

And swept from Atlios and the rocky fringe 
Of many a mountain-builded promontory 
Beyond PaUene, those liigh vapors hoary 
That, soon as Morn swings out on silent hinge 
Her golden gates against the eastern skies. 
Do travel the dim air in search of glorj'. 
Whereat they rose (graybeardcd companies, 
Whose paths above the peaked mountains are), 
Leaving the moonless night upon the wane, 
In haste to fill their floating urns with flame, 
And midway meet the Light that loves to rise 
On Delos, where his mother dwelt. There came 
A change across the skies, and in the strain 
Of that strange music, that now dropped from far 
Fresh, clear, and cold, as drops of driven rain 
Dasht on dark summits from the morning star: — 
" Art thou near me, Sister Arge 1 " 

" Sister Opis, I am near." 
" And dost hear me, Sister Arge ? " 
" Sister Opis, speak, I hear." 
" From the cold to the warm, from the dark to 
the light, 
From the wish to the will, from the part to the 
whole, 
To the deed from the need, to the day from the 
night, 
From the brute in the body to the god in the soul, 
Man grows. 
For, the gods having first morselled Man into 
men. 
Men by growing together must grow into Man ; 
Who grows outward at first, to grow inward 
again, 
Thus outgrowing the point whence his first 
growth began ; 



OPTS AND ARGE. n 

Till (who knows ?) 
Point by point in successive ascensions, perchance 
The high gods, on his being upborne, shall go 
higher 
Up in Heaven, to leave scope for the search of his 
glance, 
And large space for the love in his life to aspire 
To the air that feeds fire : 
Still, as more and more godlike he grows, to discover 
More and more in the godhead, above him forever ; 
The wider he reaches, more reachlessness ; over 
His highest attained, still a higher to endeavor 
In the Ever-near Never.'' 

Light rose in response mild a lovelier voice 
Along the morning air, like a spring wind 
Whose benediction bids old earth rejoice 
Because of violets it is come to find. 

'« Sister Opis, I hear thee. 

And, near thee, 
M}' heart, with thy song in it, glows ; 
And the fulness of sweetness o'erflows, 

"While thy soul from thy lip 

All a-tremble doth slip 
As a dew-drop in light from a rose." 

And, higher thought in higher tone to pour. 
The music of that mystic voice intens-o 
Rose on the tingling dark, and. more and more 
Was felt like light within the listener's sense. 

" Blind and mute no more. 
As, for ages and ages old, 



12 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Upon Time's storm-beaten shore 

It dwelt in the dark and cold 
Of error, and shame, and wrong, 

Man's race, erewhile forlorn. 
With speech that is now made song, 

And sight that is beauty born. 
Shall see, and speak, and be heard ; 

And the lion, and wolf, and leopard, 
As tame as a mountain herd 

That follows at morn the shepherd, 
By a music and a light 

To a fairer land afar, 
Charmed out of the caves of night. 

Shall follow man's dawning star ; 
Where the force, refined to grace, 

Of Strength and Beauty mated 
Shall give birth to a lovelier race 

Of men to gods related ; 
Till there beat in the old brute world 

A human heart that knows 
Where the Spirit of Love lies curled 

In all that breathes and blows ; 
And a peeping face shall flit 

Through the leaves of the forest lone, 
And the mountain wells be lit 

By the limbs of a Naiad known, 
And the orbs that brighten heaven 

Shall be no nameless glory. 
But the beauty and splendor given 

To a breathing human story." 

Anon together, like two butterflies 

Born of one flower that gave to both its hue, 

AVhich sport around each other in warm skies. 



OP IS AND ARGE. 

Yet all the while their upward flight pursue 
Through summer's liquid lights and melodies, 
Those voices twain on intertwined wing 
Of woven music mounted, hovering : — 

" Blessed art thou, O man, at thy lowest, 

thou lord of the hand and the thought ! 
For thou livest in that which thou doest, 

And thou makest thyself out of naught. 
Now to thy cradle we bear thee 

The Teachers, the bright, the benign. 
That out of earth's dust shall uprear thee 

An altar, a temple, a shrine, 
And forth of all things that be near thee 

(By the touch of a tenderness fine) 
To guide, to sustain, and to cheer thee, 

Shall summon a Presence Divine. 
Beauty, the wave-born, the flowing, 

Shall rise, and in rapture give birth 
To Love, the man-maker, the glowing 

Boy-bringer of Beauty to earth. 
Lo ! I weigh thee the weight of thy worth. 
All things are thine : 
All things combine 
In a strenuous design 
To make thee divine. 
Name them, and claim them ! 
None dare decline 
In aught to fulfil 
The behest of thy will. 
Choose them, and use them ! 
The moving, and the still, 
The upright, the supine. 
Take them, and make them 



13 



14 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

(Both the color and the hne) 
Ministers all at the marvellous shrine 
Of the strong-bodied, spii-it-wedded, 
Hundred-handed, myriad-headed, 
Miglity, wonder-working Skill ! 

" The wave shall render thee 
Its intricate harmony 
Of movement multiform, and gliding swerve 

Of shadowy curve ; 
The mould of Music visible, the free 
Lip o' the eloquent sea : 
The vine shall fix forever 
For thee her fond endeavor 
Of drooping leaf, and tendril-twine. 
To richly deck the rigid line 
Of limitary law, that lies 
Unseen, endeared by love's disguise : 
Tlie milk-white marble pale, 
To tell thine eyes the tale 
Of what thy thoughts discern 
Beyond them, shall avail 
Olympian speech to learn ; 
And, for thy sake, forthwith forego 
The formless face of his smooth snow 

For novel features, sweet or stern. 
To fit thy fancy, gay or grave, 
And in unm.oved memorial save 
The falling leaf, the flowing wave. 
From death, that doth their beauty crave ; 
And, as both stock and stone 
To thee their uses lend, 
Tliou too, in turn, shalt these befriend 
With better beauty, not their own ; 



15 



OP IS AND ARGE. 

And every tender slope and turn 
Of sumptuous form, well-featured face. 
Or pure proportion, pleased to deck 
This mortal mould, shall flow to grace 
Some calyxed vase, with curling neck, 
Eine-eared, or fluted urn. 

" Now, therefore, new-grown, 

Come forth, and be known, 
Thou poor hewer, thou blind-handed breaker 

Of Avood and of stone ! 
Henceforth, in thy might, as the maker. 

To the ages be shown ! 
And the gold shall break out into glory, 

And the ivory be pallid with aAve, 
At the frown of the god high and hoary, 

That liveth alone in the law 
Of himself; when, in splendor strong-zoned, 
Zeus, sovran in Elis, sits throned. 

" Blessed art thou, man ! for thou grooves t 
(0 thou lord of the thought and the hand !) 

In the growth of whatever thou doest, 
And the ages await thy command. 



" Life's image, born of the brain. 

In the form Avhich the hand hath fashioned. 
Shall forever unmarred retain 

Life's moment the most impassioned ; 
All power, that in act hath been 

Put forth, shall perish never ; 
And life's beauty once felt and seen 

Is life beautified forever." 



1 6 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

In that high tone the mingled music shrill 

Of those triumphant voices, ceasing, left 

The silence tremulous with a solemn thrill, 

As one whose troubled sense is sharply cleft 

By sudden knowledge of undreamed-of good. 

And, for a while, there was no other sound 

Than the sea's murmur on the solitude. 

And the light winds that sighed and whispered 

round 
The dawning headlands. Then, with altered tone, 
"Was poured from the pale hills one voice alone : 

" Sister Opis, sister Opis, thou exultest in thy 

song ; 
For to thee the god speaks certainly, and there- 
fore thou art strong. 
But me a sorrow moveth in the midst of much 

delight. 
For the grief that 's growing in the joy, the 
weakness in the might. 
Of this twofold nature, each way growing into 

depth and height ; 
Whereby more strength more strongly feels moix 
weakness, in despite 
Of moi'e strength yet in sight. 
For man, from the moment when man 
Feels a power in his soul to conceive 
Of a power surpassing the span 

Of the life he hath jjower to achieve, 
Must be wretched ; perceiving, botlx ways, 

The abyss of a boundless Beyond ; 
With, as more imperfection may gaze 

On perfection, more cause to despoud. 
Evermore must the life of the many, 



OP IS AND ARGE. 17 

That in Art is completed alone, 
Transcending the mere life of any 

One creature, leave hopeless that one. 
And no shepherd shall stand on the mountain 

As stately as Phoebus the fair ; 
And no maiden shall move by the fountain 

As radiant as Hebe the rare ; 
And Niobe's marble bereavement. 

In anguish made beauty forever, 
Shall immortally mock the achievement 

Of grief's merely mortal endeavor. 
Then say, if thou seest, — for I see not, 
What hope is in man that he be not 
The architect merely — as, stone 
Upon stone, it ascends — of his own 
Mortal life's monumental despair ? 
From insolent heights never ending. 

In immutable forms ever fair. 
Conception transcending, oftendiug. 
And mocking Experience, — declare 
What shall comfort the poor life of each. 
When, fixt far beyond the soul's reach, 

Though confronting the sense, — ever there 
In completion, abasht, it must gaze 

On the full-imaged life of the All ? 
What shall reconcile shame 1 and upraise 

To man's greatness mere men, that arc small "? 
Ay me ! for man's sake my tears fall. 
Not seeing whence comfort to call." 

Whereto, in answer, the hill-tops along. 

That other voice, clear, confident, and strong : — 

" Sister Arge, sister Arge, dost thou falter 1 But 
to me 
VOL. I. 2 



1 8 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

The god hath given certainly to utter what shall 

be. 
Wherefore listen." 

" I am listening, with my spirit turned 
to thee." 

" List, and see ! — 
Base wert thou, O man, though thou buildest 

Halls higher than ever the emmet. 
And poor, though thou purplest and gildest 

Thy pomp : a fly's wing would condemn it. 
But to measure thy w^eakness, and know it. 

Is the crown of thy strength. Wherefore speak, 
And come forth, O consoler ! O poet ! 

Thou whose song giveth strength to the weak. 
Thou doer, aye unguessed among 
Things done : deceiver of the throng 
That 's ignorantly thine ; whose life. 
Living through all, unheard proceeds 
Amid the noise of mortal deeds. 
And shapes of passing things, and strife 
Of changing times, which, when thy presence 
Their emptiness and little strength 
Hath filled and interpenetrated 

With its own divinest essence, 
Grow great and calm, take breadth and length, 
And height and depth, and rest related 

To those immortal verities 
That change not wdth the changing skies, 
And reel not with the rolling years : 
Thou Destiny, whose thoughts are seers. 
Come forth, controller of the shears, 
The spindle, and the rock ! 



OP IS AND ARGE. 19 

Hero, whose words are victories all, 
Enlarge man's life : leave nothing small, 

Inconsequent or fractional : 
The world's shut heart unlock. 
Do thou with beauty stop the chinks 

And flaws of uncompleted man. 
And with music brim tlie brinks 

Of nature : filling out the plan 
Of the life man yearns to live. 

And strives to seize, bu:t never can. 
Till thy help to him thou give ; 

Putting space within his span. 

" Life's flower hath many springs : 

Leaves fallen feed its root : 
Camps, nations, courts, and kings 

Murmur, ancLsoon are mute. 
But over the bloody plain 

"Where a nation's life lies lost, 
Erom the bodies of many slain 

Doth arise but a single ghost. 
Nor chance nor change can mar 

The beauty of her pale brows, 
Whereon the pilot star 

Of the wandering Euture glows : 
She, that is all pure essence. 

Can no more suffer wrong : 
Men call her name The Presence 

Of the Past made theirs in Song. 
And this most beauteous child 

Of a Past that cannot die, 
Whose spirit doth reign strong-willed 

O'er the realm of Futurity, 
By means of her mighty sons, that are 



20 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

The makers of man's thought, fair, and far 
From the perishing Present's fitful strife, 
Upbuildeth the beautiful dome of life ; 
All thronged with lucid shapes that be 
Clothed each in the calm of eternity ; 
Those mighty memories of mankind, 
Whose home is the universal mind. 
Wherefore yet I praise man at his lowest. 

Being lord of the living voice. 
Hark, O wind, through the reeds where thou 
blowest. 

Pan Cometh ! I bid thee rejoice. 
The segipans, satyrs, and fauns. 

To his shrill pipe trooping after, 
Trample over the lanes and the lawns, 

With timbrel and tipsy laughter : 
But after Pan cometh Apollo, 

Whose music is sound made fire. 
And the gods and the heroes follow 

The loud twang of his golden lyre.'* 

Down swept a rushing sound, across the lone 
And melancholy mountains clothed in cloud, 
As of the multitudinous hurrying on 
Of unseen feet, and murmurings of a crowd, 
With music, cymbals faint, faint flutes ; as when 
On festal days, with pomp processional. 
And minstrelsy, and dancing maids and men. 
Some merrymaking city pours through all 
Her gaping gates a jubilant swarm; whose sound 
Among the humming hills is sometimes heard 
Where gorges open, and then shut again, 
Sudden, i' the shifting vale, with all its train 
Of mirthful tumult manifold, and drowned 



OP IS AND ARGE. 21 

In such deep silence that the hooting bird, 
Tiiat haunts by mountain tarns, is audible 
Tar off once more, and audible alone. 
In the reinstated stillness, with stern tone 
Chiding the solitary air. So fell 
Down vaporous precipices, soon almost 
As heard, those sounds of things unwitnessed, lost 
Along the dreaming gulfs, and rolled away. 
Anon once more, against the dawning day, 
/The former voices ; shrill distinct, as darts 
That, clashed against sonorous metal, sing, 
Sharp tune ; whereto clear echoes from the hearts 
Of hollow caves rang response, vibrating : — 

" Sister Opis, sister Opis, on a silver wave of song^ 

Sweetly streaming. 

Dim as dreaming. 
The deep melodies among, 

By thy singing, 

Bliss is bringing 
All my being. Yet prolong 

The loved rapture ! " 

" Listen, Sister ! 
Tor my spirit on the throng 
Of the ages rushes strong. 
When the strong aixhetypal moulders ^ 

Of mortal clay 
Have bequeathed to unborn beholders 
The forms that stay 
Fixt and fast 

In the flux of time. 
For man's thought, cast 
In a mould sublime ; 



22 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

And the few fine Spirits first needed 

To build up the walls of the world 
(From the Protoplast freshly proceeded), 

Having, each from his fortress, unfurled 
The standard of man's realm, made fuller 

Eor all men by one man alone, — 
Over marble, or music, or color, 

Or language, — are gathered and gone 
From the sun's sight, like stars of the morning, 

Lost in level enlargements of light, 
Where the world needs no longer their warning 

Or witness to steer through the night. 
Then the men that come after, not equal 

In height, but more spacious in span. 
Shall combine and complete in the sequel 

Each sublime isolation : and man. 
Grown compacter, shall gather together 

His faculties, full-grown before 
Each up to the length of its tether. 

But scattered and single of yore. 
No piling on Ossa of Pelion, 

Leaving valleys uncultured and lone : 
But the whole world in high perihelion. 

Breathing light, shall set broad to the sun ! 
And for this I praise man, at his lowest, 

Being heir to heights higher than his ; 
Eor, wl^^n even his march is at sloAvest, 

He is ever beyond what he is. 

" The form of the shining present. 
By the shade of the past controlled. 

As the curve of the young moon's crescent 
Is shapen about the old, 

In the self-completing orb 



OP I 8 AND ARGE. 23 

Of a life, that in its own li^'ht 
Doth the shade of itself absorb, 

Man lifteth through time's lone night. 
In the present his future he feelcth, 

Formeth and holdeth it fast, 
And himself to himself revealeth 

Himself by himself surpast. 

" But see ! the great light is beginning 
Up yonder ; with sharp silver thinning 

The thick night, and peeling away 

The black shell that shut down the day. 
Leave we here on the high promontory, 
That is toucht at the tops with the glory. 
Each great Eorm, folded fast head and feet, 
And swathed in the sweet yellow wheat ; 

Best befitting for symbol and sign : 
For man's first need is merely to live, 

His next to make mere life divine ; 

And the corn-crowned Ceres must give 

The first gift to the god-crowned shrine. 
With the hard hand that hacks out the harvest 

From the solid resistance of things. 
Poor peasant, a portion thou carvest 

Of ease for thy sons that be kings ! " 

By this, severe cold amber-colored light 
Was sharpening the dark edges of the sea : 
From shadowy summits, slowly stolen in sight. 
Through the still air the voice came, carolling free : 

" Come, Sister, come down 

The deep meadows unmown! 

Down, Sister, deeper and deeper down, 



24 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Through the lone bright lands 
iSTot ours, Avherc hands 
Happy and fair, in the years unshoAvn 

Of boy and of maiden. 
Shall our sepulchres crown. 

Flower-decked and gift-laden, 
With green myrtle coronals oft. 
Light let us stray 
Down the valleys away, 
And where shadows wave soft 
Through dim olive-woods, sighing 

"With the low undertone 
Of a life ever dying, 
Ere her crownet of dew the pale cistus hath 
doffed. 
Leave the High Ones alone 

And aloft, fitly lying 
In the light that lives lonely aloft. 
Down ! down ! " 

Whereto, with mimic echo, from a cloud 
Brightening upon the impenetrable peak 
That his dim head in heaven did highest shroud, 
An answering voice far oif came faint and weak : — 

"Down, down, 
And deeper. Sister, and deeper down, 
I come, I come 
To our long-sought home ! 
And, lightly stepping, my step unknown. 
Not a print, as we pass, ever presses 

From the blossoming grasses below. 
We, the breatli of the morn in our tresses. 
And the beam of the morn on our brow ! 



OP IS AND ARGE. 25 

Nevermore to the fierce wildernesses, 

And the hollow rocks heavy with snow. 
Nevermore to the storm-beaten beaches, 

Whose black gulfs their chafed surges churn 
Into bleak foam, the bitter wind bleaches. 
Shall our god-guided footsteps return ! 
But here, at the last, our life reaches 
The limit, and drops in the urn, 
And passes complete. 

At the touch of a hand 
Whose touching is sweet. 
To a sweeter land." 

The louder voice then, with a sudden cry. 
Pealed from the lower heights imperatively : — 

" Wherefore stir not a straw 
From the sacred Awe, 
And the mystic Veil neither crush nor crease. 
But, awake and aware. 
Hid in Delos, there 
Leave the High Gods o'erlooking their home, 
sweet Greece ! " 

Whereat both voices, fainter grown, did seem 
Strange as the ebbing music of a dream : 

" Hush, hush, within the sense 
Of their own wise reticence. 
Thoughts too sweet for song to sing 
Even where none be listening ! 
Breathe, O breathe, no sound less light 
Than a lizard's startled flight 
Through the leaves, when lovers pass 



26 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

O'er the silent summer grass ! 
Leave the dreaming world to waken, 

Wistful of the mystic numbers 
Of the music that hath shaken 

With prophetic sound its slumbers. 
Let the patient Many fashion 

Into common use the true 
Substance of the solemn passion 

Of the sudden-minded Few. 
Stay not, singer ! song will stay 

Where who sung it sings no more. 
Doubt not, doer ! love will pay 

Life's deed done when life is o'er. 
Haste ! away, before the day 
Show by shadows where we stray ! 
Violets that are not boAved 
By the shadow of a cloud 

Laden with midsummer thunder ; 
Kyes down-lidded in dim sleep, 
'Neath whose fringes dare not peep 

Any dream that passeth under ; 
Be, O earth, more still than those, 
Where our unseen footstep goes ! " 

And, like a flock of swallows on swift wing, 
Before the falling of the rain in Spring, 
Light-wavering o'er a whisperous lowland green ; 
That suddenly, from none knows whence, are 

seen, 
And in and out the maze of their own making 
Inextricably wheel, and wink, and find 
And lose themselves, but at the last, forsaking 
Their momentary haunt, do leave behind 
In the gray light upon the grass beneath 



OP IS AND ARGE. 27 

Not any sliadow ; so the scattered breath 
Of those melodious voices, hei'e and there 
Along the desultory morning air 
Dispersing, left at last within the wind 
Not even a wandering echo, as it ceased 
Against the startling stillness of the east ; 
Where now conspicuous, by no cloud confined, 
But stern, in steadfast skies, with serious light, 
Lay bare the starless forehead of the Dawn. 
The sparkle of a golden sandal shined 
One moment on the mountain peak. A white 
And vaporous hem of eddying vesture, drawn 
Across a safFron-coloi*ed cliff from sight 
Slowly, left all along the mountain lawn. 
Among the tawny grass and camomile, 
A tremulous streak, soon quenched in day's strong 

smile. 
Of waning splendor. Then those mariners all 
E.ose up amazed, and drew out of the deep 
The hooked anchor, and drove out to sea 
Their little bark beneath a shadowy shore. 
But, while they set the sail, and plied the oar, 
EuU-lightcd on the heavenly mountain vv^all 
Leaped the large Sunrise, and all round shook free 
His flamy wings : when lo ! on ever}'^ steep, 
Wrapt with the auroral vapor rolling high, 
An august image stood, majestical. 
With lifted arm, far off, 'twixt earth and sky. 




a8 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

II. 
CRCESUS AND ADRASTUS. 

(Herodotus, i. 35.) 

ORTUNE, that walks above the heads 
of men 
I' the rolling clouds, the witless deni- 
zen 

Of airy Nothing, by Necessity 
Among the unsteady Plours with hooded eye. 
Subservient to a will not hers, is led : 
And, as she passes, oft upon his head 
That, underneath heaven's hollowness, doth stand 
Highest of men, her loose incertain hand 
Lets fall the iron wedge and leaden weight. 

Croesus, the lord of all the Lydian state, 
Of men was held the man by Fortune best 
With her unhoedful blind abundance blest : 
Because all winds into his harbors blew 
Opulent sails ; because his sceptre drew 
Out of far lands a majesty immense ; 
Because to enrich his swol'n magnificence, 
The homage of a hundred hills was rolled 
Upon a hundred rivers ; because gold 
And glory made him singular in the smile 
0' the seldom-smiling world a little Avhile. 
To him, in secret vision, at the deej) 
Of night, what time Fate walks awake through 
Sleep, 



CECESUS AND ADRASTUS. 29 

The gods revealed that, in the coming on 

Of times to be, Atys, his best-loved son. 

Untimely, in the unripe putting forth 

Of his green years, and blossom-promised worth, 

By an iron dart must perish. 

Then the king, 
Long while within himself considering 
The dreadful import of the dream, — in fear 
Lest any iron javelin, lance, or spear. 
Left to the clutch of clumsy Chance, should fall 
On Atys, — gave command to gather all 
Such Aveapons out of reach of him he loved. 
Safe in a secret chamber far removed. 
And, — that the menaced prince no more should 

take 
His wont i' the woods, with baying dogs to break 
The rough boar's ambush, nor the lion wound, 
Nor flying stag, with dexterous darts, — he found. 
And wived to Atys, the most beautiful 
Of Lydian women : lovelier than the lull 
Of summer eves in lands where Summer fills 
With slumbrous light the slopes of snowy hills 
Fluslit by a fleeting sun. So fair was she 
Whose clasped arms should gentle jailers be 
To Croesus' chiefest treasure. 

This being done, 
The king was comforted about his son. 

But while the nuptial feast, at 'mid of mirth, 

O'erflowed with festival the golden girth 

Of the king's palace, — while, with fold on fold 

Of full delight, the mellow music rolled 

From Lydian harps a heavuig heaven of sound 

In the gorgeous galleries, and garlands crowned 



30 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Warm faces in a mist of odors rare, — 
There came before the king at unaware 
A stranger from beyond the storm-beat sea : 
A man pursued by pale Calamity, 
With hands polluted ; on whose countenance 
Was fixed the shadow of foregone mischance. 
His slow steps up the hymeneal hall 
Struck sounds that sent deep silence on through all 
That swarming revel. Music's broken wing- 
Fluttered and strove against the checked harp 

string : 
And he that poured stood, holding half-way up 
The two-eared pitcher o'er the leaf-twined cup, 
While the wine wasted : he that served leaned o'er 
The savorous fumes of anice-spiced boar. 
With trencher tilted : they whose limbs were 

dropped 
At ease on purple benches, elbow-propped. 
Half rose, and, stooping forward, shocked awry 
From jostled broAVS, sloped one way suddenly, 
Their slanted crowns, blue-bossed with violet. 
Or dropping roses ; each with eyes wide-set 
In unintelligent wonder on the wan 
And melancholy image of that man. 
He, moving through the amazement that he 

caused. 
Approached, unbid, the throne of Croesus ; paused. 
And there, with groans from inmost anguish 

brought. 
The hospitable-hearted king besought 
His hands by the Lydian rite to purify 
From taint of blood. 

To whom, when presently 
He had his asking granted, Crcesua said : 



CR(ESUS AND ADRASTU8. 31 

" Whence art thou, stranger ? and whose blood 

hast shed, 
That doth so fiercely clamor at the porch 
Of Heaven's high halls 'i What burning wrong 

doth scorch 
Sweet rest from out the record of thy days ? " 

To whom that other : 

" But that Judgment lays 
Foundations deeper than Oblivion, 
I would my shadow from beneath the sun 
Had passed forever ; being the most forlorn 
Of men ! A Phrygian I, and royal-born ; 
The son of Gordius, son of Midas ; who. 
Ill-starred ! unwittingly my brother slew. 
For this, my father from his much-loved face, 
And all the happy dwellings of my race. 
Me into wide and wandering exile drave : 
Whence, flying on the salt white-edged wave, 
Cast out from comfort unto stars unknown. 
My hollow ship, before the north wind blown. 
Fate to these shores directed ; where I stand 
A friendless man, sea-flung on foreign land. 
In thus much learn, O king, from whence I 

came, 
And what I am. Adrastus is my name." 

The monarch smiled upon him, and replied : 

" Thy friends are ours : thy land to ours allied : 
If not with kindred, here with kind, thou art. 
A frowning fate to bear with smiling heart 
Is highest wisdom. In ou.r court remain. 
Cease to be sad. Nor tempt the seas again." 



32 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

So in the Lydian court Adrastus stayed, 
Eating the bread of Crcesus : and obeyed 
The kindly king, well-pleased to roam no more. 

Now, at that time, a horrible wild boar, 

By hunger driven from his lair, below 

The dells dark-leaved, lit with golden snow. 

Where Mysian Olympus meets the morn, 

Made ravage in the land ; despoiled the corn. 

The tender vine in many a vineyard tore, 

Each sapling sallow olive wounded sore. 

And oft, about the little hilly towns 

And stony hamlets, where high yellow doAvns 

Pasture, among cold clouds, the mountain goat 

That wanders wild from Avattled fold remote. 

His fierce blood-dripping tusk foul mischief wrought. 

Eor this, the sorely-injured Mysians sought 

At many times the ruinous beast to slay ; 

But never yet at any time could they 

Come nigh him to his hurt. For he, indeed, 

Slew many of them, and the rest had need 

Of nimble feet in fearful flight to find 

Unworthy safety. Thus was ruin joined 

To ruin. 

Therefore, unto Croesus now 
They sent an embassage ; that he should know 
The damage done them by this savage thing ; 
Entreating much, moreover, that the king. 
With certain of the Lydian youths, would send 
Atys, the prince, to help them make an end. 
For of all noble youths in Lydian bound 
Atys the most high-couraged was renowned, 
Nor matched in martial vigor. 

Croesus then. 



CR(ESUS AND ADRASTUS. 33 

When ho had heard the message of these men, 
Made ansAver to the Mjsiaus : 

" For our son, 
Ye shall not have him. Think no more upon 
That matter. For, indeed, the crescent light 
That was newborn to giid his nuptial night 
Is yet the unfinished circlet of a moon. 
And shall a husband leave a wife so soon. 
Ere the first spousal month be sped, to lie 
On hill-tops bare, beneath the naked sky, 
Neglecting wedlock young, and the sweet due 
Of marriage pillows, Mysians, for you 1 
But since (touching all else) we love you well 
And fain would see the huge beast horrible, 
That hath such havoc made of your fair laud, 
Defeated, we will send a chosen band 
Of our best valors ; men that shall not miss 
What is to do. Be ye content with this." 

But, when the Mysians were therewith content. 
The son of Croesus, hearing these things, went 
To Croesus, and said to him : 

" In time past, 
Father, or in the chase, or Avar, thou wast 
Tlie first to Avish me famous ; Avho dost now 
To me forbid the javelin and the bow. 
Wherefore ? For yet I deem that thou hast not 
In me detected any taint or spot 
Of fear, dishonoring one to honor born. 
Yet think hoAv all men from henceforth must scorn 
Thy son, Avhom, being thy son, they should revere. 
In him revering thee, Avhen I appear 
Among them in the agora : I alone 
Of all men missing honor to be avou 

VOL. I. 3 



34 CURONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

From this adventure ! For what sort of a man 
To the coarse general (that is quick to scau 
Faults in superior natures) shall I seem ? 
Or what to my fair wife "? How shall she deem 
Henceforth of him, who in her white arms lay 
No less than as a god but yesterday 1 
Wherefore, lest I some memorable deed 
Now miss to do, I pray thy leave to lead 
The honorable ardors of this chase, 
True to my noble name and pi*inccly place ; 
Or, this denied, vouchsafe, at least, to say 
For v\diat just cause I must remain away. 
Since I, in all things, would my heart convince 
The king must needs be wiser than the prince." 

But Crcesus, weeping, answered : 

" Not, my son, 
Because in thee aught unbecoming done 
Displeased me, nor without sad reason just. 
And strict constraint to do what needs I must 
(Not what I would, if what I would might be !) 
Have I thus acted. For there came to me 
A vision from the gods, upon ray bed. 
In the deep middle of the night, which said 
That in the days at hand, an iron dart 
Thee from my love, and from thy life, must part. 
For this, thy marriage have I hastened on : 
That, with occasion due, thou shouldst, my son, 
Awhile withhold thee from thy wont to seek 
The haunts of lions, or with dogs to break 
The rough boar's ambush in the rooty earth, 
But rest, companioned, by the pillared hearth, 
To one new- wedded a befitting place : 
For this, did I forbid thee to the chase : 



CRCESUS AND ADRASTUS. 35 

For this . . . . O stay, my son, by thy fair wife, 
And, in prolonging thine, prolong my life ! " 

And his son answered : 

" Wisely, since the dream 
Camo from the all-Avisc gods, as I must deem, 
Wisely, dear head, and kindly, hast thou done ; 
Thus, with forethouglited care, to hold thy son 
Back from the far-seen coming of the wave 
Of Fate, — if him forethoughted care could save ! 
But I, indeed, as toucliing this same chase. 
Can see no cause for fear. In every place 
Death's footsteps fall. Nor triple-bolted gate, 
Nor brazen wall, can shut from man his fate. 
Yet, had the vision prophesied to me 
That, or by tooth, or tusk, my death should be, 
I had been well content to stay at home ; 
Leaving the coming hour, at least to come 
B}' me not rashly met in middle way. 
But since 'twas said an iron dart must slay 
Me, to black death appointed, I might fear 
An iron dart as well, though staying here, 
As there, in open field, among ray friends. 
For who can lock his life up at all ends 
From charmed Chance, that walks invisibly 
Among us, to elude the dragon qjq 
Of Policy, and the stretched hand of Care ? 
Wherefore, I pray thee yet that I may share 
What honor from this hunt is to be won, 
Before death find me. Since a man may shun 
Honor, yet shunning honor all he can. 
He shuns not Death, which finds out everj^ man." 

Then Croesus, overcome, not satisfied, 



36 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

From under moistened eyelids, doubtful, eyed 
The impatient flushing in the brightened cheek 
Of Atys. And, because his heart was weak 
From its vague fears to shape foundation fast 
For judgment, " Since, my son," he sighed at last, 
"My mind, though unconvinced, thy words have 

shaked. 
Do as thou wilt." 

But, like a man new- waked 
From evil dreams, who longs for any light 
To break the no-more-tolerable night, 
Soon as, far ofi in the purple corridor, 
The sandal clicking on the marble floor 
Ceased to be heard, and he was all alone, 
And knew that Atys to the chase Avas gone, 
He started up in a great discontent 
Of his own thoughts, and for Adrastus sent. 
To whom the monarch thus his mind expressed : 

" Adrastus, since, not only as my guest 

But as my friend, thou hast to me been dear, 

If aught of natural piety, and the fear 

Of Zeus, whom I by hospitable rites 

Have honored, honoring thee, thy heart delights 

To harbor, heed thou well my words. For I, 

When thou, pursued by pale Calamity, 

Didst come before me, thee, upbraiding not, 

Did purify, and, as a man no spot 

Of blood attainted, to my hearth received, 

And there with ministering hand relieved. 

Now, therefore, follow to the chase my son. 

Nor leave him ever till the chase be done ; 

His guardian be ; prevent him in the way. 

And let no skulking villain lurk to slay 



CRCESUS AND ADRASTU8. 37 

The son of him that hath befriended thee. 
Moreover, for thine own sake, thovi shouldst he 
Of this adventure; so, to signalize 
A noble name by feats of fair emprise ; 
Since thy forefathers of such feats had praise, 
And thou art in the vigor of thy days." 

Adrastus answered : 

« For no cause but this 
(Since Croesus' wish unto Adrastus is 
Sacred as law delivered from above) 
In this adventure had I sought to move. 
For 't is not fit that s-uch a man as I, 
Under the shadow of adversity. 
Should with his prosperous compeers resort ; 
And, not desiring this, from martial sport 
Among the Lydian youths, with spear or bow, 
I have till now withheld myself. But now, 
Since I am bid l)y him I must obey. 
Bound to requite in whatsoe'er I may 
Kindness received, this chase I will not shun. 
Thou, thei'efore, rest assured thy ro3'al son, 
Dear Paramount, so far as lies in me, 
His guardian, shall unharmed return to thee." 

Meanwhile, the huntsmen had with leathern thongs 

The lean hounds leashed, and all that fair belongs 

To royal chase appointed, as was tit; 

With pious rites around the altar, lit 

To solemn Cybele, at whose great shrines 

Oa wooded Ida, 'mid the windy pines, 

Or Tmolus, oft the Sardian, to invoke 

The mighty Mother, bade the black sheep smoke ; 

And Artemis, the silver-crescented, 



38 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Adoring whom, a white kid's blood was shed, 
And crowns of scarlet poppies, intermixed 
With dittany, among the columns fixed, 
Or hung, fresh-gathered, the high stones upon. 

And now the Lydian youths (with whom the son 
Of Crasus and the Phrygian stranger) blew 
The brazen bugles, till the drops of dew 
Danced in the drowsy hollows of the wood ; 
And the unseen things that haunt by fell and flood. 
Roused by the clanging echoes out of rest, 
Shouted from misty lands, and, trampling, pressed 
Through glimmering intervais of greenness cold, 
To hang in flying laughters manifold 
Upon the march of that blithe company : 
Great-hearted hunters all, with quivered thigh, 
And spear on shoulder propped, in buskins brown 
Brushing the honey-meal and yellow down 
From the high-flowering weed, whilst, in their 

rear, 
The great drums throbbed low thunder, and the 

clear 
Short-sounding cymbals sung ; until they came 
To large Olympus, where the amber flame 
Of morn, new-risen, was spreaded broad, and stiil. 
There, for the ruinous beast they searched, nntil 
They found him, with the dew upon his flank. 
Couched in a hollow cold, beneath the dank 
Roots of a fallen oak, thick-roofed, dim. 
And, having narrowly encircled him. 
They hurled their javelins at him. With the rest 
That stranger (he that was King Croesus' guest, 
The Phrygian, named Adrastus, purified 
Of murder by the monarch), when he spied 



CECESUS AND ADRASTUS. 39 

The monster, by the dogs' tenacious bite 
And smart of clinging steel, now maddened quite, 
Making towards him, — hurled against the boar : 
Which, missing, by mischance he wounded sore 
Atys ; through whose gashed body, with a groan 
The quick life rushed. 

Thus fates, in vain foreknown. 
Were suddenly accomplished. For those Powei's 
That spin, and snap, the threads of mortal hours, 
Had willed that Croesus nevermore should hear 
The voice of Atys ; unto him more dear 
Than fondest echo to forlornest hill 
In lonesome lands, more sweet than sweetest rill, 
Through shadowy mountain meadows murmuring 

cold. 
To panting herds : nor evermore behold 
Tlie face of Atys ; unto him more fair 
Than mellow sunlight and the summer air 
To sick men waking healed. Now, therefore, one. 
Having beheld the fate of the king's son. 
Fled back to Sardis, and to Croesus said 
What he had seen : — how that a javelin, sped 
By that ill-fated hand, to nothing good 
Predestined, from the blot of brother's blood 
By Croesus purified, yet all in vain. 
Since still to bloodshed doomed, — had Atys slain, 
Fulfilling fates predicted. 

Croesus then, 
Believing that he was of living men 
Most miserable, who had purified, 
Himself, the hand by second slaughter dyed 
In the dear blood of his much-mourned-for son 
(Since by his own deed was he now undone) 
Uplifted hands to Heaven, and vengeance claimed 



40 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Of Zeus, the Expiator ; whom he named 
By double title, to make doubly strong 
A twofold curse upon a twofold wrong : 
As God of Hospitality, — since he 
That was his guest had proved his enemy ; 
As God of Private Eriendship, — since the man 
That slew his son was his son's guardian, 
To whom himself the sacred charge did give. 

Therefore he prayed, " Let not Adrastus Ha'c ! " 

But, while he prayed, a noise of mourning rose 
Among the flinty courts : and, followed close 
Out of the narrow streets by a dense throng 
Of people weeping, slowly moved along 
The Lydian hunters bearing up the bier 
Of Atys, strewn with branches ; in whose rear, 
Down-headed, as a man that bears the weight 
Of some enormous and excessive fate, 
The slayer walked. 

Full slowly had they come, 
With steps that ever slackened nearer home, 
And heavier evermore their burden seemed. 
As ever longer round their footsteps streamed 
The woful crowd ; and evermore they thought 
Sadlier on him to whom they sadly brought 
His hope in ruins. When they reached the gate 
The western sky was all on flame. Stretched 

straight 
Through a thick amber haze Adrastus saw, 
As in a trance of supernatural awe. 
The high slant street ; that lengthened on, and on, 
And up, and up, until it touched the sun. 
And there fell off into a field of flame. 



CROSS us AND AD EAST US- 41 

He knew that lie was bearing his last shame; 
And all the men and women, swarming dim 
Along the misty light, were made to him 
Shadows, and things of air, for all his mind 
Was passed bej'ond them. So, with heart resigned 
To its surpassing sorrow, he bowed down 
His head, and followed np the columned town 
The bier of Atys, without any care 
Of what might come : because supreme despair 
Had taken out the substance from the show 
Of the world's business, and his thoughts were now 
In a great silence, which no mortal speech, 
Kind or unkind, might any longer reach. 
Meanwhile, with melanclioly footsteps slow, 
Slow footsteps hindered by the general woe, 
Those hunters mount the murmurous marble stair 
To the king's palace. 

He himself stood there 
To meet them ; knowing why they came ; with 

eyes 
Impatiently defiant of surprise. 
But, when they set their burden down before 
The father of him murdered whom they bore ; 
And, when the inward-moaning monarch flung 
His body on the branche'd bier, — there hung 
With murmurings meaningless, and dabbled vest 
Soaked in the dear blood sobbing from the breast 
Of his slain son, — there, dragged along the flint 
His bruised knees ; and crushed, beneath the print 
Of passionate lips, groans choked in kisses close, 
Poured idly on those eyelids meek, and those 
White lips that aye such cruel coldness kept, 
For all the hot love on them kist and wept ; 
And when the miserable wife, whom now 



42 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

The sudden hubbub from the courts below 

Had pierced to, through the swiftly-emptied house, 

Flew forth, and, kneeling o'er her slaughtered 

spouse, 
Beat with wild hands her breast, and tore her hair. 
And cried out, " Where, you unjust gods, where, 
Between tlie stubborn earth and stolid sky, 
Was found the fault of my felicity ? 
That such a cruel deed should have been done 
Under high heaven, beneath the pleasant sun ! '* 
Then he, that was the cause of that wide woe. 
Came forth before the corpse, and, kneeling low, 
Stretched out sad hands to Croesus ; upon whom 
He called, to execute the righteous doom 
Of death on him, deserving life no more. 

When, therefore, Crcesus heard this, he forbore 
To groan against the edge of his own fate ; 
But judged most miserable that man's state 
Who, evil meaning not, had evil done, — 
First having slain his brother, then the son 
Of him that gave him hospitality. 
So, letting sink a slowly-softened eye 
To settle on Adrastus, who 3'et knelt 
Before him, his hard thoughts began to melt. 
And he was moved in mind to tolerate 
The greatness of his grief; which, being less great 
Than his that caused it, stood in check, to make 
This tolerable, too. 

Sadly he spake : _ 
" To me," he said, " thou hast requital made, 
Most miserable man ! on thine own head 
Invoking death. Wherefore, I doom thee not. 
Nor deem thy hand hath this disastrous lot 



CR(ESUS AND ADRASTUS. 43 

From the dark urn down-shaken. Rather, he, 
That unknown god, whoever he may be, 
That long ago foreshadowed this worst hour, 
Hath thus compelled it to us. Some veiled Power 
Walks in our midst, and moves us to strange ends. 
Our wills are Heaven's, and we what Heaven 

intends." 
Then Croesus caused to be upheaved foursquare 
A mount of milk-white marble ; and did there 
In trophied urn the holy ashes heap 
Of his loved Atys. And, that fame should keep 
Unperished all the prince's early glory, 
Large tablets wrought he, rough with this sad story. 

But when the solemn-footed funeral. 

With martial music, from the marble wall 

Flowed off, and fell asunder in far fields ; 

And silenced was the clang of jostling shields, 

And the sonorous-throated trumpet mute, 

And mute the shrill-voiced melancholy flute ; 

What time Orion in the west began 

Over the thin edge of the ocean 

To set a shining foot, and dark night fell ; 

Then, judging life to be intolerable. 

The son of Gordius sharply made short end 

Of long mischance : and, calling death his friend, 

He, self-condemned to darkness, in the gloom 

And stillness, slew himself upon the tomb. 

This to Adrastus was the end of tears. 

But Croesus mourned for Atys many years. 



44 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 



Ill 



GYGES AND CANDAULES. 



(Herodotus, i. 8.) 




FOR the lute whereon Apollo played 
At Love's own marriage ! or the ec- 
static string 
That ransomed thy too-soon-recapturcd 
shade, 
Renowned Eurydice, from Hell's hard king ! 
O for oue warbled strain of those that made 

Ulysses long to leave his voyaging, 
That in my song might now be felt and seen 
The beauty rare of King Candaules' Queen ! 



II. 

In old Moeonian Lydia, lord of all 

Between the blue sea-flooi's and snowy brows 
Of ancient Tmolus, where, by many a wall 

Red with the bloom of ripe pomegranate boughs, 
Erom bridge to bridge, the Golden Tide did fall 

Through silken Sardis, with his bright-haired 
spouse 
Dwelt that soft monarch, slave to her sweet eyes, 
In gardens green 'neath costly canopies. 



III. 



Eor he was so enamoured of his wife. 

So sunk in love's soft sea without a shore, 



GYGES AND CANDAULES. 



45 



That he no longer lived save in the life 
Which her full-flowing loveliness did pour 

On his dim passion : all his thoughts were rife 
"With her red kisses : ever he forbore 

State business, and let all things fall asleep 

That he might dream, and dream, of beauty deep. 

IV. 

There was no sweetness under the sweet sky 
That to the heart-sick king was half so sweet 

As all the languorous summer days to lie. 
Faint as a fallen rose-leaf, at her feet ; 

To loose his spirit o'er her in a sigh ; 

And feel, like sunny light and odorous heat. 

The bounteous influence of her looks and lips. 

And touchings fine of her faint finger-tips. 

V. 

And he would break from solemn council hall. 
To breathe within the comfort of her face ; 

And he would steal from flaring festival, 
To sit within her smile in private place ; 

And oft in midst of grave discourse would fall 
To musing mute upon her matchless grace. 

Then hurl wild words of passion into air. 

Vaunting her perfect limbs and lustrous hair. 

VI. 

But oftenest he with Gyges would discuss 

Her unimaginable excellence ; 
— Gyges, his friend, the son of Dascylus, 

A man in honor, and of soberest sense 



46 CURONJCLES AND CHARACTERS. 

To disapprove the over-garrulous 

Ill-counselled king ; whom he, with deference, 
Rebuked not seldom, pacing pleasant hours 
Among the palace halls and garden bowers. 

VI r. 

Yet this Candaules, in his foolishness, 
(Mad as a man foredoomed to misery !) 

Was angered that l]is friend should aye repress. 
With slant cold speech, his fervid ecstasy. 

And once he said, " But you Avould wonder less, 
Since man's ear is-^less credulous than his eye, 

That I so boast the beauty of my Queen, 

If you her unrobed whiteness once had seen." 

VIII. 

But Gygcs cried : " Forbid it, gods on high, 
That I should see a sight to shame my king ! 

For woman's robe is Avoman's modesty. 
Surely, a man should only heed the thing 

Which only him concerns. And thci-cfore I, 
That would my Queen to no dishonor bring, 

This wisdom from the words of sages spell : 

'Let no man wish what is to no man well.' " 

IX, 

This Gygcs answered; and forevermore. 
Fearing lest harm unto himself should be, 

The foolish king with cautious words forbore ; 
But evermore the foolish king, for he 

Was as a man the Nymphs have frenzied, swore 
That his too-much-mistrusting friend should see 

The thing he would not. Therefore he replied : 

" Have thou no fear lest mischief hence betide. 



GYGES AND CANDAULES. 47 

X. 

" Her shalt thou see, thyself by her unseen ; 

For in the purple draperies of the door, 
By night, what time the unsuspecting queen 

Lone, as her wont is when our cups flow o'er. 
Moves to the nuptial couch, behind the screen 

Of broidered Tyrian that is drawn before 
The inner portal, thou, close-hid, shalt see 
Her smooth-limbed beauty breathing bare to thee. 

XI. 

" Fast by the royal couch forever stands. 
Under a silver lamp, a golden chair ; 

And, when she comes, she with her own white hands 
Lays down her light of gorgeous garments there ; 

And smoothly slips from out their jewelled bands 
Her lustrous shoulders ; and beams shining fair 

In the amazed mirror, ere is slid 

Her snoAvy sweetness 'neath the coverlid." 

XII. 

Then Gyges, when he found not any way 
The monarch's mad design to set aside. 

With groaning heart prepared him to obey, 

Though cursing deep his king's unkingly pride. 

And, when night came, from out the banquet they 
With guilty steps, like stealthy ghosts, did glide 

Through wondering chambers dim with woven dyes. 

And listening lengths of empty galleries. 

XIII. 

Thus to the nuptial chamber did they steal. 
And in the portal's purple curtains there 



48 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

The king himself did Gjges close conceal, 
And bade him watch behind the golden chair 

Whereby the queen her beauty should reveal. 
Then to the banquet back, without a care, 

Went King Candaules, pleased with folly done ; 

And Gyges with his thoughts was left alone. 

XIV. 

And first self-scorn shut all his sullen sense 
Within himself : but soon the odors sweet, 

Streamed from the misty lamps, and that intense 
Rich-scented silence, seeming to entreat 

Some sound to ease its sumptuous somnolence, 
Lured out his thoughts, and made his pulses beat 

With wondrous expectation. The dim place 

Seemed aching to be filled up by her face. 

XV. 

Meanwhile, the music out of distant halls 

Hummed like the inland sound of hid sea-shores, 

And ghostly laughters lapsed at intervals 
Along the faint-lit, cold-walled corridors ; 

And portals oped and shut, and then footfalls 
That wandered near, and, over other floors 

To other silence, wandered off again, 

Kept up continual throbbing in his brain. 

XVI. 

At length, deep-down the opposing gallery, 

From out the long-drawn darkness flashed a light ; 

And, peering from his purple privacy. 

He spied, with red gold bound and robed in white. 



GYGES AND CANDAULES. 



49 



Sole as the first star in a sleepy sky, 

That, while men watch it, grows more large 
and bright. 
The slow queen sweeping down the lucid floor ; 
And in her hand a silver lamp she bore. 

XVII. 

Before her, coming, floated a faint fear 

Into his heart who watched her whiteness move 

Swan-soft along the lamp-lit marble clear. 
And, lingering o'er her in the beams above, 

The winged and folded shadow shift and veer, 
Her airy follower, fraught with fretful love. 

Through all his shaken senses rose vague heat 

From the sweet sounding of her sandalled feet. 

XVIII. 

Anon, she entered, and her lamp down-laid 
By the smooth-metalled mirror ; and awhile 

Stood, slanting low the glory of her head. 

And dipped her full face in its OAvn warm smile ; 

Then looked she sidelong through one loosened 
braid 
Of her rich hair, as though she Avould beguile 

Some love-sick spirit on the air to linger. 

Twining a gold curl round her glowing finger. 

XIX. 

But soon she all that twisted gold outshook. 
Till over either shining shoulder streamed 

The sudden splendor ; and began to unhook 
From those white slopes the buckled gems that 

beamed 
VOL. ^. 4 _ 



50 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Deep in the mirror's kindling dark, which took 

Her mellow image to itself, and gleamed 
With soft surprises, and grew bright and warm 
With the delicious phantom of her form. 

XX. 

Her Gygcs watched, as one that helpless hears 
The cataract call him downward. His heart made 

Such passionate pealing in his fluttered ears, 
That by his fear he feared to be betrayed. 

And, but that ever greater with his fears 

His raptures grew, he had not so long stayed ; 

But, having stayed so long, he still must stay, 

And, having looked, he may not look away. 

XXI. 

Last, she with listless, long-delaying hand 

The golden sandals loosed from her white feet, 

And loosed from her warm waist the golden band. 
The milk-white tunic slided off its SAveet 

Snow-surfaced slope, and left half bare her bland 
Full-orbed breast. But, in the fainting heat 

Of his bewildered heart and fevered sight, 

Here Gyges in the curtain groaned outright. 

XXII. 

She started, as a Nymph of Dian's train, 

Stirprised, when bathing blithe in forest pool. 

By some chance-straggler from the purple plain, 
Ere she, quick-flashing through the fern-fringed 
cool, 

Her golden darts can from the green weed gain. 
Wherewith to pierce the rash low-fronted fool ; 



GYGES AND CANDAULES. 51 

And Avhere he cowered, she, in superb surprise, 
Levelled the lustres of her angry eyes. 

XXIII. 

Then, more with wrath than shame, from breast 
to brow 

Each snowy surface passed to rosy red. 
The rosy redness passed again to snow ; 

Scornful she sprang into the purple bed, 
And plunged her globed and gleaming limbs below 

Their silken-fringed sheath. Forth Gyges fled, 
As from the god profaned some mad wretch flies, 
Stricken and scorched, beneath indignant skies. 

xxir. 

All down the hollow gallery, after him 

The loud stones shouted at his heels : behind 

The unseen Fury, sailing fast through dim 

And dreadful space, breathed like a burning wind 

Upon his hair : swift fire in every limb 

Seethed up and down : night's blackness broke 
and shined 

All round with restless eddyings of the glare 

Of that strong vision, flooding the hot air. 

XXV. 

Nor did he, erased by stony echoes, mark 
The silly-smiling king, with tumbled wreath, 

Stretch hands wine-stained to stay him in the dark. 
And waft wild whispers thick on heated breath 

To win him back. More desperate than the bark 
Unruddered in the storm, and blind as death. 

He rushed to waste himself in some unknown 

Mad morrow, from that wicked midnight grown. 



52 



CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 



XXVI. 



But when at last clear-crested Dawn upbroke 
The seeming-endless trouble of that night, 

And Gyges out of sleepless dream half woke 
To wonder at himself, and loathe the light. 

And groan beneath the unaccustomed yoke 

Of wrong recalled, whilst yet on his sick sight 

Swam floating gleams of all that glory seen, 

And the wished image of the much-wronged Queen, 

XXVII. 

Even then, w^hilst smouldering fancy strove, like 
flame 
Choked under kindled weeds, some rainy night 
Leaves moist at morn, a sudden summons came 
From her whose eyes still scorched him. O, 
what might 
Of dreadful dearness now was in that name. 
To mingle sick dismay with mad delight, 
And O, with what shamed knowledge now must 

he 
Loathe to be seen by whom he longs to see ! 

XXVIII. 

Unconscious by what power his powerless feet 
Were moved within the light of her deep eyes, 

He sank beneath them, smitten by the heat 
Of their slow scorn ; and, poured in agonies 

Upon the pavement, did not dare to meet 

Looks that grew large and larger, to comprise 

The slowly-widening circle of some doom 

That deepened ever in their sultry gloom. 



GYGES AND CANDAVLES. 53 

XXIX. 

Long while she spake not ; and through every limb 
He felt the silence straining at his heart ; 

"Whilst her remorseless eye, still searching him, 
Went to its aim like a dividing dart : 

But still faint nearness to the fragrant rim 
Of her warm robe dissolved his inmost smart 

In dear delight, and still in sumptuous dread 

Swift lives of joy seemed dying. Then she said : 

XXX. 

" Kise ! and remember that thou wast a man, 
Though most unmanly hast thou shamed in thee 

Earth's universal manhood. Dare to scan 
The monstrous measure of thy wrong to me. 

Then find whatever expiation can 
Make life not all intolerable. We 

Are made one shame together. I that bear. 

And thou that didst, this wrong, this wrong must 
share." 

XXXI. 

But he, that longed into her arms to leap. 
And, lost in too-completed life, die there. 

Swift as a fountain flashes from the deep 
Up into sudden sunshine and sweet air. 

Sprang, shivering, to his height ; and, from its steep 
And restless poise 'twixt rapture and despair. 

His long-pent passion overflowed, and he 

His full heart, gushing into speech, set free. 

XXXII. 

Then, when he flung into fierce words and few 
Recital of the monarch's mandate base. 



54 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Wherewith he strove, and strove in vain, there grew 
Strange anguish in the changes of her face. 

" Enough it seemed," so moaned she, "when I knew 
Myself, though most unmeriting disgrace. 

The fool of outrage. Must a husband's name 

Stay ever at the summit of my shame ? 



XXXIII. 

" Yet, half my knowledge of the king divined 

In last midnight's intolerable deed 
The ignominious madness of his mind. 

And, but that Natui-e would so sharply plead 
With that unnatural thought, all human kind 

(For such wide warrant such wild wrong must 
need !) 
Of human kindness had seemed emptied quite, 
Since love could in such loathly deed delight. 

XXXIV. 

" For thou hast seen what, so to have been seen, 
Leaves an eternal blush between us twain. 

My blood yet burns where'er thine eyes have been : 
And insult unavenged in every vein 

Makes memory mad. Me miserable Queen ! 
Where shall I turn ? To whom do I com- 
plain ? " 

"Nay but," said Gyges, "injured Beauty's child. 

Indignant Love, slew him whose gaze defiled 

XXXV. 

" His mother's image. That wrong-doer lives 
No more in me, that am Love's votary all ! " 



GYGES AND CANDAULES. 55 

" Yea, so 1 " she answered. " But the king survives, 
And this round base of earth is made too small 

To hold such shameless husbands with shamed 
wives. 
The very stones beneath men's heels will call 

Disgrace on things so graceless, and express 

Scorn of this king of all unkingliness ! 

XXXVI. 

"But words waste anger weakly. Therefore 
choose : 

Tliere is no room beneath the all-circling sun 
For me, and thee, and him, wherein to lose 

The knowledge of the thing which hath been 
done. 
Wherefore to us naught rests but to refuse 

To live ourselves, or not let him live on. 
Judge thou for both. Die, and I follow thee : 
Or, slaying him, live on sole lord of me." 

XXXVII. 

She ceased with a long sigh ; and looked, less scorn 
Than sad self-pity, and dejection deep. 

Lowering faint eyelids over eyes forlorn. 

But Gyges cried : " O that the tomb should keep 

In that oblivious night, which hath no morn 
To call obstruction cold from senseless sleep. 

The silenced sweetness of so fair a face, 

And no breath leave of all its breathing grace ! 

XXXVIII. 

" Or that those lustrous limbs should ever fade 
To fleeting shadow by the lampless shore 



56 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Of Orcas, or that lovely form be laid 
In urned ashes to be seen no more ! 

But might the half of this dear debt be paid 
By hecatombs of lives and seas of gore, 

And had the king a hundred lives to lose, 

To reach thee through them all I still must choose ! " 

XXXIX. 

She mused a little ; and her inti'icate eyes, 
Orb within orb, grew dark with cruel light. 

Then she said slowly : " On the place he dies 
Where he designed dishonor yesternight. 

But we must risk no rescue, hear no ci'ies ; 
Sleeping, we slay him swiftly. Briefest fight 

With fate is safest counsel. That must be 

This night. The headless kingdom falls to thee, 

XL. 

" To thee whatever rests of woman here 
Not made the food of Furies such as rise 

From deeds like this. And so, from year to year, 
We two must learn to bear each other's eyes ; 

Nay, cHng the closer to shut out pale Fear, 
And smother Horror up in Love's disguise. 

For never now for us, ah nevermore, 

Love's chaste auroras ! Dewy dawn is o'er. 

XLI. 

" This sun of passion, fed with guilty fire. 

Leaps blood-red from the womb of blackest 
night. 

Yet call it lovely names ! I must desire 

Tliy love, and love thee, ay in scorn's despite ! 



GYGES AXD CANDAULES. 57 

Since my hate help of thy hate doth require. 

It were less base to be united quite 
Than in this shameful nearness to remain. 
One in dishonor, though in honor twain. 

XLII. 

" So kiss this crime off! " Suddenly she fell, 
A blinding gush of beauty upon his breast. 

Thereafter all day long, in surge and swell 

Of whirling thoughts, he chased his own unrest 

About wild places, till heaven's pui'ple bell 

Was dropt with stars, and reddened round the 
west ; 

Then in dark precincts, where the palace shone 

New-lit, he paced the impatient hours alone. 

XLIII. 

Ere midnight, through the dusky doors he slid, 
Drawn like an evil dream adown the dark ; 

And in the penetralian purples hid 

His wicked knife, and crouched where he might 
mark 

The stealthy signal, which his steps should bid 
To their bad goal ; and soon from slumber stark 

The King's hard breathing on the silence spread, 

And the Queen beckoned from the treacherous bed. 

XLIV. 

There, bent beneath the winking lamp, those two. 
With hearts hard-edged as was their glittering 
knife. 

The senseless King in silken slumber slew, 
And, with no moan, from his misused life 



58 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

He fleeted down to Orcus. Then they drew 

The dead rehictant weight, through silence rife 
With horror, o'er the soaked and slippery floor, 
And dropped the blood-red ruin at the door. 

XLV. 

So died Candaules, slain for deed obscene : 

So fell the Heracleidce's fated tree : 
So Gyges took the kingdom and the Queen : 
So wrong was heaped on wrong, till Fate should 
be 
Accomplished. But, by Heaven's high Justice 
seen. 
Not nnjudgcd went the deed. For when, to 
free 
The realm from that usurping hand, men rose, 
And shook the throne, and added woes to woes, 

XLVI. 

The god at Delphi sentence strict proclaimed : 
That crown and queen to Gyges should belong. 

Since queen and crown the murdered King had 
shamed ; 
Albeit, because wrong is not healed by Avrong, 

Therefore sharp retribution Fate had framed 
Far in the folded years, and cui'ses strong 

To plague the cankered brood as yet unbred 

From the base getting of that guilty bed. 



END OF BOOK I. 



BOOK II. 

IMPERANTE TIBEKIO. 

THANATOS ATHANATOU. 

"That was enough which long ago, while we were yet at 
Carthage, Nebridius used to propound, at which all we that 
heard it were staggered : — ' That said nation of darkness 
which the Manichees are wont to set as an opposing mass 
over against Thee, what could it have done unto Thee, hadst 
Thou refused to fight with it ? For if they answered, " It 
would have done Thee some hurt," then shouldst Thou be 
subject to injury and corruption : but if it could do Thee no 
hurt, there was no reason brought for Thy fighting with it ; 
and fighting in such wise as that a certain portion or mem- 
ber of Thee, or offspring of Thy very Substance, should be 
mingled with opposed powers and natures not created by 
Thee, and be by them so far corrupted and changed to the 
worse, as to be turned from happiness to misery, and need 
assistance whereby it might be extricated and purified ; and 
that this offspring of Thy Substance was the soul, which, 
being enthralled, defiled, corrupted, Thy Word, free, pure, 
and whole, might relieve ; that Word Itself being still cor- 
ruptible, because It was of one and the same Substance. So 
then, should they aSirm Thee, whatsoever Thou art, that is, 
Thy Substance, whereby Thou art, to be incorruptible, then 
were all these sayings false and execrable ; but, if corrupti- 
ble, the very statement showed it to be false and revolt- 
ing.' " — Confessions of S. Augustine, B. VII. (ii.) 3. 

" I set now before the sight of my spirit the whole crea- 
tion, whatsoever we can see therein (as sea, earth, air, stars, 
trees, mortal creatures) ; yea, and whatever in it we do not see, 
as the firmament of heaven, all angels moreover, and the 
spiritual inhabitants thereof." . . . . " And I said, Behold 
God, and behold what God hath created .... both Creator 
and created, all are good. Whence, then, is Evil ? " — 
Idem, (v.) 7. "0 Truth who art Eternity I and Love who 
art Truth I and Eternity who art Loye I " — Idem, (x.) 16. 



THANATOS ATHANATOU* 



The Ninth Hour. — Darkness over Calvary. 




VOICES FROM ABOVE. 

OW long, O Lord, our God 1 

VOICES FEOM BENEATH. 

O Lord, how long ? 

\A pause. 

VOICES FROM ABOVE AND BENEATH. 

No answer yet 1 — Woe ! woe ! no answer yet ! 

SPIRITS {sinking). 

Wild in the windless dark, what sullen song 
Rolls this way from the waste 1 Our wings be 

wet 
With dismal dews, bloody and salt. 

* The Latin rhymes with which this poem is interspersed 
have not been introduced whimsically, but as the simplest 
means of giving to monastic sentiment a language plainly 
distinguishable from that of the other utterances amongst 
which the voice of it is here occasionally audible. 



62 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

SPIRITS {rising). 

The strong 
Grief o' the gray old Earth these drops doth sweat. 
The moan of old Earth's wrong 
Mounts ; and we mount with it. 

A VOICE FROM THE EARTH. 

I have nourished my numbers of nations 
On a hope that hath never been blest : 
And the ghosts of my gone generations 
Vex me yet with reproachful unrest. 
Worn by long unrequited endeavor, 

As I roll through my ages of pain, 
I have listened, I listen forever, 

For a word that is waited in vain ! 

AN ECHO. 

In vain ! 

A VOICE PROM THE EARTH. 

In temple and palace 
The bread and the chalice. 
Bitter with brotherless pride, 
Are eaten and drunken by Murder and Malice 
Crowned, mitred, and mantled, and magnified, 
While brute-born Hungei", in hovel and den. 
Is smiting and biting the bones of men 
In whose bodies their souls have died. 
One Misery goeth in gold : 
And one Misery goeth acold : 
And there is no difference beside. 
However their dust be drest : 
Eor the flourishing Evil is sad, 
Because it is Evil at best : 



THAN AT OB ATHANATOU.^ 63 

And the fading Good is not glad, 

Because it is Good opprest : 
And their wretchedness knoweth no rest 

Erom a hope that is ever belied 
In a blessing not ever possest. 
The children cry at the birth, 
Bads cursing a cankered stem ! 
Shall they live or die 1 What strength have I, 
The mother of miseries, Earth, 
To bear, or to bury them 7 
From pitiless city to city. 
Passion hath hunted Pity : 

Love feedeth his funeral pyre 
On the flame of his own heart's fire : 
My altars gurgle with groans. 
Soaked black are my temple stones 
With the blood of my whitest ones. 
Surely, surely, Lord, 
It is time to utter the word. 
And deliver Thyself, and Thy sons. 

AN ECHO. 

Deliver Thyself and Thy sons ! 

VOICES FROM HUMANITY. 

Tristis nostra est conditio : 
Qui parentis, ah initio, 
Protoplasti vim in vitio, 
Dum spiramus, propagamus 
Usque ad Jinem hominum. 
Nee suplicio nee exitio 
Nostra suhtrahit petitio 
Multum quidem nos hientes, 



64 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Oh parentes, heu ! solventes 
Dlrum debitum hominum. 
Prima mail lobes crescit : 
Uncle hominum viarcescit 
Genus omne. Sicut fumus 
Fugit dies. yEgri sumus : 
Cor humanum nihil corrigit : 
Nemo nobis manum porrigit : 
Quin et etiam vincit fortis 
Inexpletce hasta mortis 
Dominorum Dominum. 



VOICES PROM THE GRAVE. 

Of yesterday's joy and its sorrow, 
Of the hopes and the fears of to-morrow, 

Of misery, madness, and mirth. 
Of the bright and the sable spheres 

Where the treasures of space are stored, 
Of the wonderful world they engirth, 

Azure-roofed, emerald-floored, 
Of the monuments Memory rears. 

And Pride, with a gory sword, 
Graves, forging the name of Worth, 
Of the scrolls of singers and seers 

With the words of promise scored. 
Words written to lull the pain 

Of Doubt, from Doubt's dictating, 
We have sought, and sought again. 

The meaning of Life and of Birth. 
We have waited, — waited in vain, 

For an answer, a token, a word ; 
Waited, — waited for years. 

Waiting, weeping, and waiting, 



THAN AT OS A THAN AT OU. 65 

Till Death, to be rid of our tears, 

Hid us under this handful of earth, 

"Where still the old hopes, the old fears. 
Wait in vain for an answer, O Lord. 

AN ECHO. 

Answer, Lord ! 

A VOICE FROM THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 

Mortui non laudahunt te, 

Neque in wfernum 
Qui descendant, Domine ! 

Exibit nam spiritus : 

Revertetur animus 

Suhler hiimiim. Venit hora: 

Sistit opus : silent ora : 

Non auditur vox clamantis : 

Non respondet cor amantis : 

Et amoves el labores 

Pereunt in eternum ! 

A VOICE FROM THE SEA. 

Slave of the Spirit of Might 
Have I been in my own despite, 
For ages, and ages ; 
But a memory yet of a ruined right 
To a something lost of divine delight 
Through my mid-inmost rages 
For ages; for ages ! 
I have struck with a struggling shoulder 
The sides of this stubborn star. 
Till old promontories, older 
Than its oldest memories are, 
VOL. I. 5 



66 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Began to crumble and moulder 

And drop under my prison bar. 
I have tumbled my sands and shells 
Over cities and citadels ; 
Through ages and ages, 
Ever moving, moaning ever ; 
Ever seeking, finding never, 
Answer to the deep endeavor 
Of the spirit that in me dwells. 
Which no rest assuages 
Through ages and ages. 
"With the voice of my waves and storms 
I have questioned the million forms 
That float in the molten thunder, 
And drop with a voice of wonder 
Down the red-litten 

Ruin-smitten 
Hollow and hissing dark. 
When ^tis suddenly, terribly, torn asunder 

By the leap of the lightning-spark : 
My voice the sun's mid noon. 
My voice the midnight moon. 
By whose silver sceptre cold 
With strong moanings manifold 
Are my wishful waters drawn. 
Long hath heard ; and the white Dawn ; 
And the wistful Even, too ; 
What time round his pavilion 
Of blue, amber, and vermilion. 
He, with a stealthy finger 
That doth ever love to linger, 

Sofily disengages 
From out their azure cages, 
To float in fervid heights. 
All those winge'd lights 



THAN AT OS ATIIANATOU. 67 

That soar on winking pinions 

Of white fire, and wander through 
Tlieir newly gained dominions 
Of divinest bhie ; 
Still lifted np, long ages, 
Still vainly, to inquire 
(For man, whose mind makes choice 
Of mine, to be the voice 
Of his own pining pain) 
Wherefore infinite desire 

Finite power doth enchain? 
But, unanswered by the ages 
Wherewith man's passion wages 
Weary war, that doth but tire, 
Waste, and break him, I again 
To the sorrow of his sages 
Fling their question back ; in vain 
Forced upon me ; never nigher 
To the knowledge they would gain 
Of the meaning of man's pain. 

AN ECHO. 

Pain ! 

VOICES FROM THE AIR. 

Hoarly in a crystal cup 
Do we Spirits gather up 
The sounds of all the sorrows 
Of the yesterdays and morrows 
Of man's measured misery. 

But never yet, Lord, 

Have we ever heard 

On Sorrow's lip -the word 
That miffht set Sorrow free. 



68 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

AN ECHO FROM THE ^ONS. 

Set Sorrow free ! 

A VOICE ON CALVARY. 

Himself, that saved others, let him save ! 

ANOTHER VOICE. 

Thou, if thou be the Son of God, come down ! 

AN ECHO FROM GEHENNA. 

Son of God, come down ! 

A MULTITUDE OF VOICES. 

Art thou a Prophet 1 Prophesy, we crave, 

A MULTITUDE OF ECHOES. 

Prophesy, we crave ! 

THE VOICES. 

What thorns mean in thy crown. 

A VOICE FROM THE GRAVE. 

Put forth thy strength now, Thou that wouldest 

burst 
The doors of my dominion ! Doth the First 
Daunt thee? The Second Death is yet. The 

worst 
Hath evermore a worse beyond. 

A VOICE FROM THE CROSS. 

I THIRST ! 



THAN AT OS ATHANATOU. 69 

VOICES BELOW THE CROSS. 

Mix the hyssop with the myrrh ! 

DEMONS OP THE OUTER DEEP, 

A cup of deadly wine 
Be it ours to minister 

To a thirst divine ! 
We are the Cruelties of Nature, 

That swarm to overwhelm 
The spirit in the creature 

That invades her realm. 
Horror, stolen from the lips 
Of the Uvid-faced eclipse ; 
Terror, from the scorched earth under 
The swift transit of the thunder ; 
Wrath from the enormous ocean ; 
Madness from the earthquake's motion : 

DEMONS OF THE INNER DEEP. 

Pallid fears, heart-harrowing cares, 
From invincible nightmares ; 
And the stealthy day-by-day 
Of what turns men's hair to gray \ 
And the sudden, sharp collapse 
Of Courage, when the vast Perhaps 
Springs at unawares in sight ; 
And the whisper in the night 
That breaks a noble heart : 

DEMONS OP THE OUTER DEEP. 

Deep awe 
From the abysses : vulture's claw, 
Serpent's fang, and scorpion's sting, 



70 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Tiger's tooth, and dragon's wing : 
All that 's hideous and unholy- 
Mix we here, to make the wine 
Of our mighty melancholy, 
Meet for lij)s divine. 

TOGETHER. 

Fleshly pang, and ghostly woe : 
Let him drain it ! Let men know 
What of God's Divinity 
Dwells in Man's Humanity ! 

DEMONS OP THE OUTER DEEP. 

Weave the web of agony. 
Softly ! softly and silently 
Wind the web of agony 

Round about his heart ! 
Delicately let it lie 
On the spirit and the eye. 
Meshed with finest misery, 

And in every part 
Strung, by choicest cruelty. 

Strong with subtlest smart ! 
Draw the tightening threads together, 

Stronger each than adamant, 
Lighter each than powdery feather 

Fall'n upon the florid plant 
Where, all faint from fervid ether. 

To his inmost honeyed haunt 
Summer's fond and wanton rover. 

The fine-winged moth doth creep. 
Let the film of anguish hover 

O'er his senses, like the sleep 



THAN AT OS ATHANATGU. 71 

Of sick fear that settles over 

Stifled lands in lurid weather, 

When, beneath, pent earthquakes gather 

Eorces for a sudden leap ! 
Let him break it, if he can, 
And reveal the God in Man ! 

DEMONS OP THE INNER DEEP. 

Through and through the strangling weft, 
Drive the knife home to the heft ! 
Turn it in his inmost heart ! 
Turn it ! Let him feel the smart 
Of the sharpness of the whole 
Of the iron in the soul ! 
Let him bear it if he can. 
And avenge the God in Man ! 

TOGETHER. 

Probe the wound unto the core ! 

Burn and bite into the bone ! 
Prove we, if this man be more 
Than the men that went before, 

And were swiftly overthrown. 
Let him feel it all he can, 
Peel as God may feel for Man : 
Fleshly pang, and ghostly woe ! 
It is fit that men should know 
What of God's Divinity 
Dwells in Man's Humanity ! 

THE VOICE or SATAN ON THE HEIGHTS. 

Make good thy double title. Son of Man, 
Or Son of God ! If Son of God thou beest 



72 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

More than all other sons of man that be. 

Then is thy solitary deed, though done 

In man's disguise, not man's : whose life remains 

No loftier and no lovelier than before 

His flesh was filched to test the transient play 

Of a god's power which, though in him put forth, 

Leaves man's self helpless as that hollow heap 

Of trophied harness from whose lifeless clutch 

Some passionate hero plucks the brand, to prove 

How living hands may wield it. Son of God, 

If thou beest only but as all men be, 

Then, more than all men can thou canst not. 

Named 
By either title, — son of Man or God, — 
I do defy thee, by surpassing pangs. 
To snatch from me my old supremacy 
In sorrow, my Divinity of Pain. 
Vainly with me in misery dost thou vie. 
Prophet of Pity ! — whom I pity most, 
That thou shouldst deem it possible to force 
Far recompense from ti'ansient torment spent 
On what thou addest to a million more 
And mightier woes, — or, that oblivious Time, 
Who, as he marches, all behind him burns, 
Will halt his wasteful course, to count and keep 
(Once dropt into the measureless abyss 
Of anguish, and. the homelessness of things) 
The few red drippings of that dolorous brow. 
Why, how now, O mine Enemy ? Behold ! 
There is not one of thy lost children here, — 
Thy children by lost heritage in Hope, 
Mine by adoption and the curse of Sin, — 
There is not one of these that hath not groaned 
Beneath some throe as sharjj as at this hour 



THAN AT OS ATHANATOU. 73 

Racks the God in thee ! Count the ages up ■ 
By all their aching pulses, and consider 
What power is thine, — even to contemplate 
The congregated anguish and despair. 
Grim ignorance, wrath, execration, fierce 
Brute wrongs, and purblind, drudging wretched- 
ness. 
The heart-broken memory, the trampled hope, 
The sloAv, cold, suffocating, creeping care. 
The cankering doubt, choked longing, livid hate, 
The stabbing shame, the stark, gaunt, naked need, 
The weary struggle of the strangled will, 
The whirling frenzy, and the wild regret, 
The dim, inexplicable, shapeless dread. 
The intense torture unendurable. 
The sick self-loathing, and the crusht revolt 
Of the excruciated flesh, — all, all 
The myriad miseries crammed into the curse 
Not of man only, but of all that lives : 
Whose several sufferings, separate discontents, 
And special curses, arc summed up in man, 
As man's in me, that of man's miseries all 
Am the unanswered Protest against Him 
That made us Avhat, for being, we are plagued : 
From puling infancy to pining youth, 
From life's mid fever to its last faint gasp. 
From the worm trodden by the heedless foot 
To the man broken by the heavy years 
He staggers tmder, or else caught and crusht 
By the strong sudden hand in the first fray. 
And trampled by his fellows : Fate's blind fool 
Upon Avhose borrowed image he himself 
Now wreaks the rabid fury of his race 
Reared into endless enmity with, all 



74 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

That to upraise it doth in vain aspire. 
What I endure, — I call, to testify, 
All creatures, and all things inanimate, 
Which are as pasture to my pain. Respond 
Trom your abysses and sublunar haunts. 
From viewless dens, or public paths of pain, 
In earth, or air, or sea, — whatever creeps, 
Or flies, or swims, or with inanimate woe 
Makes inarticulate protest, — blighted growths, 
Cankered, corrupted, curst ! — ye prisoners all 
That populate this penitential star. 
And know my voice ! thou ocean, from thy deeps 
Where Desolation dwells, thou realm of air 
Whereof I am the prince, — and all ye winds 
That waft and mock the moanings of the 

world, — 
Thou ancient earth, — and all ye habitants 
Of this old lodge of anger ! — Listen God ! 

AN INORGANIC VOICE. 

I suffer! 

ORGANIC VOICES. 

And we suffer ! 

HUMAN VOICES. 

And we suffer ! 

SATAN. 

Enough ! Ye suffer for my sake, as He 
Suffers for yours, and suffering hath no end ! 
Thou lord of Love, dost thou these voices hear ? 
What are thy pangs to those which these endure, 



THAN AT OS ATHANATOU, 75 

And have endured for ages, and must yet 
For ages more moan under 1 Lord of Love 
Thou knowest what Love can suffer, and no more ! 
But men were born to hate themselves, and thee : 
Love is not of their nature. Dost thou deem 
That any tear thou weepest can blot out 
The curse that 's scrawled across a universe 
Condemned from the beginning to the end ? 
Few were thy mortal years, and counted soon : 
In thine Immortal, — nothing ! Short thy strife. 
Soon quenched its agony ! Yet, if the thirst 
Of this soul-parching Hour might drain the dregs 
Of all the tears of all the centuries. 
Lost were thy labor ! For, if man thou art. 
More than all men have done thou canst not do ; 
But more than all must fail, who more than all 
Hast dared. If thou beest God, whv then, as 

God, 
Conquer thou canst : but in that conquest, man, 
That hath no part, can no more profit claim 
Than some poor savage, in a barbarous isle 
Half brutish born, could boast of, did he know 
That otherwhere, in Athens or in Rome, 
Some being, like himself, of woman born. 
Formed, like himself, of flesh and blood, like him 
Mortal, hath learned the lore of Samian seers. 
Or won the Caesar's crown. God's strength is 

God's ; 
Man's at the best can be but man's : who fails 
Though God, as God, succeed ; and thy success 
(If thou succeedest) is not man's, but His 
Whose power, in thee, is but superfluous proof 
Of a foregone conclusion. Man, or God, 
If man, hope nothing to man's hope denied. 



76 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

If God, though thou God's conquest claim, I claim 
Man's failure ; most in thee ; who mock'st him most 
With Avhat he might be, if, like thee, he had 
A god's strength in him, by a god's will plied. 

a voice from the cross. 

Wherefore, my God, hast thou forsaken 
Mb 1 \A pause. 

INORGANIC VOICES. 

Is God no longer in Humanity ? 
Then masters of Man's godless world are we. 
Peopling its pale impersonality. 

EVIL SPIRITS {gathering). 

Darknesses, Silences, Strangenesses, waken ! 
Ye, that forsake not whom God hath forsaken, 
Take the Untaken ! 

THE SILENCES. 

By the sweetness of music slain 
Is the soul of our silence fed 
On a pang surpassing sound. 

THE DARKNESSES. 

And our darkness' dearest gain 
By the ghost of a glory dead 

With a sharper shade is crowned. 

THE DEEDLESS ONES. 

From the lonesome places. 
Unseen, untrod. 



THAN AT OS ATHANATOU. -jj 

Where no life traces 

In seed or sod 
The love that chases 

The steps of God ; 

THE DEFEATED ONES. 

From the twilights sunk in the nether dens. 
Where Madness and Death are denizens ; 
From the wildernesses of wasted dreams, 

Where pale-faced Failure strays, and feeds 
Her footless flocks by the frenzied streams 

Of desires dragged down among broken deeds ; 
From the shipless shore where no bird flies. 

But old wrecks choke the sobbing tide. 
And the stranded wretch, that beheld our eyes 

Where the storm-wave cast him, crazed and died ; 
From the red high-road to the sudden end. 

Which the blood of its lone wayfarer streaks, 
Who, dogged by the fear of himself, doth wend 

Till the suicide findeth the knife he seeks ; 
From the flint-bound cells, where a strong heart 

breaks 
When the maniac's chain in his last gasp shakes ; 
Where from milkless nipples unmated mothers 
Pluck the nameless babes the unblest earth smothers, 
And the Memories God remembers not 
In the charnel houses of Hope do rot ; 

TOGETHER. 

We come ! Ave come ! 
In the frustrate strife 
Of the vanquisht life, 
On the course misrun 



78 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

To the goal unwon 
By the faith, self-cheated 
Of the deed defeated, 
To claim our home. 



DENOUNCING VOICES. 

Thus far rose the race of man. 

Thus low doth it lie. 
Worlds that in man's faith began 

In man's failure die. 

EVIL SPIRITS OF THE HEIGHTS {descending). 

The plain we have left unmolested 
Where low things low lie, still. 
The dust in the dust lay, and rested 

Where the wind had wreaked on it his will; 
Though the plumes of the purple-crested 

Thunder throbbed on the hill. 
Eor what can be done, or undone, 
With the filth that is filth forever 'i 
So we spared our pain 
To ruin the plain, 
And, leaving it safe in its baseness alone, 
Made wing for the higher endeavor. 
It is but an atom of earth, 

A grain, a speck most small ; 
But the place of it gave it worth, 
Tor this summit was highest of all. 

So for ages and ages long 
We Spirits had no such bliss 
As to watcii, with our eyes upon it, 
Waiting to do it wrong: 
Since the Devil had need of this. 



THAN AT OS ATHANATOU. 79 

And, lo you ! at last we have won it. 
A grain, — no more : but it grew 

Where all things fall if it fall. 
A speck : but a summit too, 

— The highest summit of all ! 

EVIL SPiEiTS OF THE DEPTHS (ascending). 

In the deepest deeps of Night 
Swam the star of a far-off day. 
A Spirit in bondage there. 

Chained fast to the sullen slope, 
Sat watching the lonesdmc ray 
Of that star's incertain light, 
With an agonizing stare. 
Let him grieve and grope as he may 
Henceforth, that Spirit blind, 

Whose name, not Patience now, 
Shall by men be called Despair ; 
But he never again shall find, 

However he grieve or grope, 
'Neath Night's eternal Nay, 

Any light on the deeps below. 

For the star he was watching is Hope, 
And that star we have stolen away. 

DENOUNCING VOICES. 

Tempters of the height, 

Darkners of the deep, 
Midway now unite, 

Man from God to keep. 
Thus far rose the race of man. 

Thus low doth it lie. 
All that in man's life began 

In man's death doth die. 



8o CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

SPIRITS UNITING. 

Where bare of sepulture 

It hangs on the rock, 
To the carcass the vulture 

And eagle do flock : 
Scenting the carrion, 

The raven and kite 
Follow the clarion, 

And feast on the fight : 
To his prey leaps the leopard : 

The wolf on the lamb 
That is left by the shepherd 

His hunger doth cram : 
Round the spent swimmer, 

With eyes peering pale 
Through the green glimmer 

The lean shark doth sail ; 
The owlet by night spoils the nest in the tree ; 

The bat tears the moth : God, that seeth it done, 
Sayeth never a word : as He made us are we : 
And so seize we our own ! 

THE VOICES APPROACHING. 

Ye that forsake not whom God hath forsaken, 
Spirits of evil, awaken ! awaken ! 
Shake the Unshaken ! 

SATAN. 

Mine Enemy, could I accuse thee now, 

Hell from her deep foundations should send forth 

A shout to shake the highest porch of Heaven 

With most infernal thunder ! Enemy, 

Could I accuse thee, all the Potentates 



THAN AT OS ATHANATOU. 8i 

Of Pain would rise to welcome to his throne 
My peer in condemnation ! 

Hearken all, 
You sightless Essences that have no voice 
Under the silence of Eternal God, 
Till Nature cries — "Too late!" — and Hell re- 
sponds 
With all her echoes ! You that spy on man, 
Sit in his heart, and count its pulses up, 
People the silent places of his mind. 
And set your secret sign upon his thoughts. 
Dog all his steps from wicked woes to woes. 
Gather his deeds, and lay them in the lap 
Of Accusation, — Destinies, and Fates, 
Dooms, Witnesses, Informers against man. 
Angels of Reprobation! — you that keep 
The record-book of wrongs for future wrath. 
Accusers all, — that are my ministers. 
As I am God's, — in Hate, not Love, — attend ! 
Answer me, now, What fault is in this man ? 

VOICES. 

We find not any fault within this Man. 

A VOICE FROM HEAVEN. 

Within this Man not any fault is found ! 

ECHO FROJI THE ABYSS OF NATURE. 

Fault is found. 

VOICES FROM THE DEPTHS OF HUMANITY. 

Is ours their fault who failed ere we began "? 

VOL. I. 6 



82 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Born to the woes we wrought not, are we bound 
By a plan we did not plan ? 

VOICES OF EVIL SPIRITS. 

Woe to the offspring of the Fault of Man ! 
Woe! 

ECHO FROM GEHENNA. 

Woe, the offspring of the Fault of Man ! 

THE "WORLD, THE FLESH, AND THE DEVIL. 

Dance we around ! around ! 
Man hath forsaken God : God hath forsaken Man ! 
The sun is dark in heaven: there is no light 
from above : 
We must be merry meanwhile, — merry as long as 
we can, 
Though Nature is sick to the heart, and the 
Angels are weeping for Love ! 
Hand in hand, a heedless band. 

Round about the Tree, 
Purple-gowned, and golden-crowned, 

Merrily dance We Three ! 
One of us three hath a cloven foot 
That iciil peep out, whatever the boot 
That Use or Wont may fashion to 't ; — 

Which of us can it be ? 
One of us three hath a leering eye, . 
And a slippery step, and a parching sigh 
On a red lip, draining men's hearts dry, — 
And the Witch knows which it must be. 
One of us three hath a royal gait. 
And a heart of scorn, and a brow of hate. 



THAN AT OS ATHANATOU. 83 

And nathless he lifteth his head elate 

Though he looketh upon the Tree. 

This is an ancient dance : 
And long ago we danced it, 

Round a god of another stamp : 

In the heart of the Chosen Camp, 

Heedless whatever the chance, 
"We danced it, and we pranced it. 

With a mad and a merry tramp, 
While nobody heeded what God said, 
Though the thunder was talking overhead, 

And the sun turned sick as a languished lamp 
Whose last light sinks unfed. 
With a merry song, and a merry laugh 
Eound about the Golden Calf, 

We danced it all together. 
And the populace, at as merry a pace, 
High and low, all joined the race. 

In turban, robe, and feather : • 
Women, as mad as mad could be. 
Little children, bare to the knee. 
Priests and elders of high degree. 

All in the stormy weather ! 

VOICES TKOM BENEATH THE THRONE. 

How long, O Lord, must we endure 1 How long ?- 
Avenge the perfect patience of thy Saints 
Whose blood cries out o' the earth against Earth's 
Wrong. 

A VOICE EROM THE EARTH. 

Avenge not, God, thy Holy One on me. 
Whose latest hope in His life's darkness faints. 



84 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

VOICES FKOM HADES. 

Release, O Lord, thy prisoners, that to thee 
Make moan, long-fettered in the bonds of Night, 
Unransomed captives of unconquered Sin ! 

SPIRITS IN THE BOSOM OF ABRAHAM. 

Celestial Shepherd of the Flocks of Light, 
Descend, descend the moaning deeps among, 
And draw thy lost sheep in 1 

THE VOICES IN HADES. 

How long shall Darkness hide us, Lord ■? How 
long ? 
When shall the Dawn begin 1 \A pause. 

A MULTITUDE OF VOICES. 

Alas ! no answer yet ! 

VOICES OF ANGELS, WATCHING ROUND THE CROSS. 

By the awe on Olivet, 

By the darkness on the day. 
By the earth that now is wet 

With the blood of Him they slay 
Knowing not, — by all the debt 

Which thy Son doth die to pay, 
Lord, no more thine oath forget. 

Nor thy right hand stay ! 
Eansom, Lord, thy quick and dead. 
By the blood which now is shed 
For them .... 

A VOICE FROM THE CROSS. 

It is FINISHED ! 



THAN AT OS ATE AN AT OV. 85 

A VOICE FROM THE ABYSS OF NATURE. 

Amen ! 

EVIL SPIRITS. 

Haste ! Away ! 
[Thunder and earthqualce. 

ANGELS, BEARING UP THE WORD. 

Earth has heard, and Heaven hath heard, 

And the Ever-living Lord, 
"What was uttered doth record ! 
Caught upon the blackened lips. 
Of the lightning-seamed eclipse, 
Echoed by infernal thunder 
From the earthquake groaning under. 
Answered from the hearts of men 
By a yet unvoiced Amen, 

Bear we up the Word ! 

A VOICE FROM THE TEMPLE. 

The Mystery of the Vail is rent ! is rent ! 

EVIL SPIRITS DEPARTING. 

Ariel ! Ariel ! 
Thou Lion of the Lord arm i potent. 
Tried and invincible ! 

VOICE FROM THE TEMPLE. 

The Mystery of the Vail is rent ! is rent ! 

ANGELS IN AIR. 

Ariel! Ariel! 



86 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

The covenant whereto He did assent 

Our God hath disannulled with Death and Hell. 
Thou Lion of the Lord Omnipotent 

In thee henceforth the heart o' the world shall 
dwell ! 

VOICE FROM THE TEMPLE. 

The Mystery of the Vail is rent ! is rent ! 

ANGEL VOICES. 

Ariel! Ariel! 

ELDERS BEFORE THE THRONE. 

Blessing, blessing, and thanksgiving, 

Glory, glory, rule and reign. 
To the Dead One that is living, 

The Death-slayer that was slain ! 
In the Life is sown the seed : 

From the Death the fruit is wrought : 
Beauty buried in the deed 

Re-arises in the thought : 
From the transitory Act, 

Which shall perish with the past, 
Springs the Faith, the Living Fact, 

That forevermore shall last. 
To the teaching of the Word, — 

To the Uttered Law, — succeed 
Yet a Second and a Third. 

First, the teaching of the Deed : 
— Of the Deed, which is the Example, 

In the Life which is the Love : 
These ennoble and make ample 

What to perfect and to prove, 



THAN AT OS AT HAN AT OU. 87 

(Heir of all) doth man inherit, 

Help of Him that cometh Third : 
And the teaching of the Spirit 

Shall complete the Deed and Word. 
Amen ! blessing and thanksgiving. 

Amen ! glory rule and reign 
To the Slain One by the living 

Of whose dying Death is slain ! 

A VOICE OUT OF THE SANCTUARY. 

The earth doth quake, 

But cannot shake 
This corner-stone of mine : 

The steadfast stone. 

The only one 
That never shall be overthrown. 
For, graved by God, doth shine 

His Name thereon 

That is the Son 
Of God and Man ; whose Name alone 

Is Human and Divine. 

THE ELDEKS ABOVE. 

Amen ! Amen ! God that gazest 
On thine image in Man's Son ! 

Man that man to God npraisest. 
Human and Divine in one ! 

SAINTS ARISING. 

Sing ye, singing out of dust. 
Buried Spirits of the Just, 
For now i' the deadest dark of Death the light of 
Life doth shine. 



88 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS, 

We arise, each bidden g-uest, 
From the chambers of our rest. 
Open, Zion, open to us, all those solemn gates of 

thine ! 
A sound, a sound of voices, and of harpings, atid . 

a light 
As when a great solemnity is holden in the night ! 
For the vintage of the vineyard, for the gathering 

of the vine ! 
And sing ye, and sing ye to the Lord a holy 

ditty : 
The song that David sung to us upon the harp 

with might : 
A vineyard, a vineyard, a vineyard of red 

wine ! 
The lord thereof is Lord of Life, whose love is 

infinite : 
For deeper than the plummet drops in Him are 

depths of pity, 
And in Him is mercy more than may be measured 

by the line. 
And the judgment that is in Him is not reckoned 

by the rod. 

A VOICE FROM JERUSALEM. 

Enter, ye Saints, into the Holy City ! 

VOICE OP A CENTURION. 

Verily, this man was the Son of God ! 

VOICES OP ARISEN SAINTS {growhu) fainter as they 
pass). 

Fire among the thorns that burnest ! 
Star that heaven around thee turnest ! 



THAN AT OS ATHANATOU. ^ 

Living star of love, whose light 

From the breast of the Divine 
Brightest glows in blackest night, 

Down this human darkness shine ! 
Ignis inter spicula : 

Umbra, sidus in nocturnd : 

Jesu tihi sit siipema 

Gloria in sempiterna 
Seculorum secula. 
Voice the winds and waves obey ! 
Spirit summoning this clay ! 
Life-creative Word of God, 
Trumpet whose triumphant breath 
Calls the soul from out the clod. 

And awakens life in death ! 

Audivere quos nox tegit ; 
Tremuitque gens infausta 

Inter mnbras ; quce mors regit 
Fracta audivere daustra ! 
Hostage found we none to take 
Death upon him for our sake. 
Bondsmen of the Night, to thee 

Made we moan from underground. 
Thou, descending, didst set free 

From their bonds the prison-bound. 

Liberati sunt ligati, 

Et soluti condemnati. 

Ubi mors sedehat, ibi 

Venit vita. Gloria tibi I 
Dayspring, of whose light is born 
Mortal life's immortal morn, 
Thou from the Beginning wast 

God with Very God alone : 
Man, with very man, thou hast 



90 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

In the Flesh the Godhead shown. 

Eque Deo Deus, numen 

Verum tu de numine, 

Et divinum vivens lumen 

In ceterno lumine. 

To the right hand of the Father, 

Where Thou sitt'st in glory, gather, 

Out of darkness, death, and doom, 

Son of God, the sons of men. 

Shine upon us in the tomb, 

Light us into life again ! 

Fac ut quando morietur 

Corpus, nostrce sit victoria 

Animcs. Fac. ut donetur 

Tecum paradisi gloria ! 

\The voices die out in the passing of the eclipse. — Even- 
ing falls, and moonlight, over Calvary. Joseph of 
AuiMATHEA, the two Marys, other Women, and Disci- 
ples, bearing away the body of Christ. 

Hush ! for the soldier's spear : 

Hush ! for the high priest's scorn : 

Hush ! lest the haters hear : 
For we are sheep forlorn. 

Dead is our shepherd dear. 

Dead, and the wolves are near. 
Hush ! lest we, too, be torn. 

Brothers, tread light, breathe low : 

With no loud voice of woe 
Must the loved burden we bear hence be borne. 
Ah, that, of all for whom his blood did flow 

None left to mourn him be, 

None left, save only we, 
Alas, that left him once whom now we mourn, 
And could not save him, though we loved bim so ! 



THAN AT OS ATHANATGU. 91 

Peace ! he hatli died, but is not dead. 
Stoop ! ei-e he he in earthy bed, 

With crusht cassia strew, 
Tor savor sweet, his winding-sheet. 
And, from his holy head and feet 
Kiss off the cold death dew. 

We will never more forsake him. 
To our human hearts we take him ; 
In our human hearts we make him 
A deep grave, that he. 
Buried in our love and pain, 
Thence may rise to live again 
In the lives of ransomed men 

Whom he died to free. 
Lord, until this Human die 
Into Thy Divinity, 

(So made wholly Thine!) 
Deep in our Humanity 
(So made wholly ours ! ) shall lie 
Buried Thy Divine ! - 

VOICES OP ANGELS PASSING. 

Blessed are ye forlorn. 

For whom The Lord is dead ! 
Rejoice all ye that mourn, 
) Ye shall be comforted ! 

[The Mourners move down the hill with the body of 
Christ. The Angel of the Watch descends. 



THE ANGEL OF THE WATCH. 

Peace upon earth ! Good-will to men. All 's well ! 

[Satan approaches. 



9z CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

THE ANGEL. 

Satan, I warn thee hence. Whence comest thou 1 

SATAN. 

From walking to and fro upon the earth. 
Thou liest, Angel ! Nothing here is well, 
For I am here. 

ANGEL or THE AVATCH. 

Yet must thou hence. 



I will not. 



SATAN. 

" Must," Cherub ? 



ANGEL OF THE WATCH. 



Not thy Avill, nor mine, decides 
Our places. Here, I guard the Cross of Christ. 

SATAN. 

I also. Hearken, Angel of the Watch ! 

Hath Sorrow any right unto this Ci'oss '? 

If so, I claim it by my right in Sorrow. 

Or Sin, thou Angel, hath it any right 

Unto this Cross ? Then, by my right ia Sin, 

I claim it. If not Sorrow, if not Sin, 

What, then, hath rights upon this Cross ? Not 

thou, 
Nor all the hosts that share with thee God's joy ; 
For these He died not, and for these no cross 
Was needed. Sorrow's place, and Sin's, is here. 
Therefore my place is here, with Sin and Sorrow. 



THAN AT OS ATE AN AT OU. 93 

The body of thy lord^ Humanity 

Hath taken to itself. I have heard 

Those woman-wailings ! Verily I have heard, 

And laughed to think Avhat sort of love was theirs 

That sang of love so loudly ! 

Mark me, Angel ! 
Already I foresee, in the new time, 
How men will crucify this Christ again 
Daily and hourly, in their hours and days : 
How they will crucify him in their faith. 
As, in their doubt too, they will crucify him ! 
How, in their knowledge and their ignorance, 
How in their love as in their hate, their hope 
And their despair, their wisdom and their folly, 
Still they will crucify him ! 

Enemy ! 
Thou knowest that the mind of man is warped 
From the beginning of the world. Thou knowest 
That men will choose the evil, not the good. 
Their nature being evil, and the True 
Still crucify, still crown the False, and still 
Shape knowledge into ignorance. 

Henceforth, 
This stone of stumbling, where it falls, shall grind 
All things to powder. Neither day, nor hour, 
Shall pass, but what, disputing to the death 
Thy substance, and thine elements, man's mind 
Shall waste man's life about a wilderness 
Of miserable, innumerable folly. 
Pedants, and pedagogues, and busybodies. 
Schools, councils, doctors, disputants, divines, 
Shall stretch contentious hands to scribble still. 
Even as erewhile, their Hebrew, Greek, and Latin 
Over thy murdered head, and write thee wrong 



94 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

In every language learned by Ignorance ! 

In thy name, men shall slaughter, and torment, 

Desolate, ruin, and destroy each other ! 

In thy name, scatFoIds shall be smeared with gore ; 

In thy name, dungeons shall be crammed with 

groans ; 
The bloody whip, the branding-iron, the stake, 
The fagot, and the sharp two-handed axe. 
The torturing engine, and the toothed wheel. 
Shall owe thy name no lack of work to do. 
In thy name, men shall brutalize God's gift 
Of life, ill-comprehended, till they rot, 
Howling, or, mad with stupid silence, pass 
Out of Humanity, to crawl to death, 
Beast-like, through bestial filth, foul sores, and scum 
Of self-neglect, in desert dens and holes ! 
In thy name, men shall utter blasphemies 
Undreamed of yet by devils damned in Hell ! 
In thy name. Fraud and Force and Violence 
Shall prosper in the prejudice of all 
That hath till yet made patience jiossible 
Under huge wrongs ! . . . . Till thou, mine 

Enemy, 
The infinitely-often crucified. 
Even in the heights of thy felicity 
Yonder, and by the right-hand of high God, 
Shalt drain the cup of bitterness, — erewhile 
Half-tasted only, — to so deep a depth 
Of wrath and anguish, that thyself shalt curse 
Thy new-adopted, even as they curse thee ! 
Meanwhile, ray place is here, beside this Cross, 
With Sin and Sorrow. Therefore stand aside. 
Thou Angel of the Watch ! Here will I rest. 



THAN AT OS ATHANATOU. 



ANGEL OP THE WATCH. 



95 



Angel of Accusation, here or elsewhere 

Neither thy power nor mine prevails, but His 

That suffers us, — each in his several sphere. 

Me to obey, and thee to contradict, 

And both to serve his purpose equally. 

The meaning of thy mystery, and the end 

Foreseen from the beginning, and foreseen 

By wisdom infinite for endless good. 

Thyself, thou knowest not. Neither do I know 

The meaning of my own. Thou canst but view \ 

The single act of God's eternity, 

Which is to partial senses sensible 

In partial action only, by the eye 

Of thine own nature, as by mine I view it. 

And, thy perception being limited 

To evil only, to thee only evil 

Is still perceptible, as still to me 

Good only, and good everywhere. 

SATAN. 

Enough, 
Angel, I know, at what I know to mock, 
And marvel at this huge ado for that 
Which, when 't is done, is nothing, — or, at least, 
Nothing in the diminishment of all 
The misery and the wretchedness in man. 
To which God said, — " Increase and multiply ! " 
The ages to the ages, and the hours 
Unto the hours, shall add themselves, and men 
Shall multiply, and ever with more men 
More misery ! Meanwhile, my place is here. 
And here I stand, — beside this Cross of Christ ; 



96 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Where Sin shall come, and Sorrow come with Sin, 

And Sin and Sorrow still shall find me here, 

Still ready to accuse them. And, when men 

Shall learn, like thee, to talk theology 

Most eloquently with the Devil himself, 

Djspute with him his nature, proper place 

And fit relation, in the latest plan 

Of general self-complacency, — at least. 

His presence shall they feel, as thou dost now, 

Here, in the shadow of this Cross of Christ ! 

ANGEL OF THE WATCH. 

Mocker ! Scorn ever was the'sign assured 
Of impotency. 

SATAN. 

And of ignorance, 
Such tearless self-complacency as thine. 
Is man's praise challenged I Be man's right to 

blame 
Thereby accorded ! What is changed for man 1 
Or how is man's case bettered 1 What man was 
He is, and shall be, and so must have been. 
So being made. The mutable images 
Of Good and Evil in the minds of men 
May change from age to age. But man himself 
No nearer and no farther than before 
Stands, where he stood, between tliem. What 

man names 
Evil to-day, to-morrow he names good : . 
And, contrary, what he names good to-day, 
To-morrow he names evil. What of that? 
He changes not his nature, but a name. 
Good men, or men so called, have been ercnov/, 



THAN A TOS A Til A NA TOU. 



97 



And evil men, or men so called, shall be, 
In like proportion, to the end of time. 
At one time this thing, at another that, 
Man studies to become, and calls it good : 
His power to be it, whatsoe'er it be. 
Is through all time the same as it hath been ; 
In the strong somewhat, nothing in the weak,' 
Not much in any. 

Cherub, know me. Prince 
Of this world, thou hast heard it, am I called. 
Prince of this world I am. But in this Avorld 
I have no power save on the mind of man ; 
Whereby whatever*God for man made good 
I for man turn to evil. Storm, eclipse, 
Deluge, and the exterminating fire. 
Earthquake, and pestilence — God's works, not 

mine — 
Obey me not. But me my works obey. 
Which are the fears these fashion in men's minds. 
The fearful deeds which, through man's life, those 

fears 
Shape themselves into. Look on me. I am 
Man's mind's eternal protest against Law, 
— Man's life's eternal protest against Love. 
A time there may be, though it must be far. 
When men, by Knowledge reconciled to Law 
In things material, shall convert to good 
All that for ages I have made to them 
Material evil. In that time my voice 
Shall no more in man's life, as now, be heard, 
Protesting against God's material law. 
But what of that ? Still heard my voice shall ])e 
In man's heart, still against himself protesting. 
And, till that protest hath in man no place, 

VOL. I. 7 



98 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Where man's place, mine is, Cherub ; nor canst 

thou 
Here, or wherever else man comes, to me 
Cry, " Enter not ! " 

THE ANGEL. 

Nor needs it, bitter fiend. 
That I forbid thee. For thou canst not pass 
The limit of thy nature, which God's love 
Surpasses, here. Obey not me : thou still 
Obeyest God. 

SATAN. 

Cherub, what more dost thou ? 

THE ANGEL. 

Love Him. 

SATAN. 

Thou lovest, hypocrite, the gala 
That 's got for loving. 

THE ANGEL. 

Ay. Love's gain is love. 

SATAN. 

Hated or loved, here w^ill I rest. Away ! 

THE ANGEL. 

Not by the length of my authority. 

But by the narrowness of thine, is fixt 

Thy kingdom, Satan. But when He, by whom 

Thy passing protest against permanent power 

Is heard i' the incompleteness of man's life. 



THAN AT OS ATHANATOU. 99 

Shall, in man's life completed, have vouchsafed 
Its complete refutation, then .... 

SATAN. 

Ay! then^ 
Count me, prophetic Spirit, if thou canst. 
How many wrinkles to the brow of Time 
Shall ere that Then be added ? And what then ? 
Thou knowest no more than I. When man no 

more 
My work provides, thine own shall lack ^Jrovision ; 
Whose task on earth is but the consequence 
Of my procedure : temporary both. 
Enough ! I stand by my necessity. 
Which is not of eternity, but time. 
I know no Then nor There. I am Here and Xow. 
Standing beneath the glory of God, not in it, 
Man casts upon this earth, whereon he stands. 
The formidable shadow of himself: 
The Spirit of that Shadow, which, where'er 
Man goes, goes with him, darkening earth, am I. 
Unto what end man's stejDS are bound, whose course, 
Making it marked by darkness, everywhere 
I dog protesting against light, or when 
That end may be, I know not. But I know, 
Nor care I to know more, that he and I, 
I with my protest in man's life, and man, 
Man in God's glory, in man's shadow I, 
Have yet through time no journey short to make 
Together ; taking with us this day's deed. 
Which yet is mine to deal with. 

THE ANGEL. 

If, in truth, 
Spirit of Discontent, the unknown time 



loo CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Of God's endurance doth, as thou dost boast, 
Accord such leisure thine to meditate 
Thy place in his incalculable scheme 
Of pure perfection, and thy power thereon, 
By him permitted, — study this first law 
To which all power is made conditional : — 
Hate creates nothing. 

SATAN. 

Nay, but Hate destroys. 

THE ANGEL. 

For Love to still create. 

SATAN. 

And Love creates 
For Hate to still destroy. Paid eulogist 
Of unintelligible authorship, 
I am the only critic of God's works 
That do not praise them. And, for this, I think 
It likes him well enough to let me be. 
And give me hearing with a certain zest 
Which mere monotony of praise like thine 
Would surfeit else. Moreover in this world 
We tolerate each other. He and I, 
Better than you surmise. I set men's wits 
To question what they scarce would notice else, 
And so find out what, having so found out. 
They all the more admire. I keep alert 
The Maker's pleasure in his works thereby, 
To prove me bungler. Yet I praise him best, 
In my own way ; and unto me he owes 
Man's worship, which was ever born of fear. 



Til AN AT OS ATHANATOU. loi 

Do I not manifest to men his power, 

Whereof a part, nor that the least, in me 

Put forth, completes the vast Two-fronted Will, 

Against whose everlasting Yes and No 

Man's frenzied being breaks, and moaningly 

Grovels in abject terror ? Which to him 

Is joy, — the joy of feeling himself felt 

By what he made to feel him ; therefore made 

Weak in all ways, but not withal so weak 

But it can bear his foot upon its neck. 

And, feeling Avhat his strength is, worship it. 

While the bruised head the bruising heel adores. 

We rule, then, each, — both he and I, — by fear : 

And he is strongest : but I still am strong. 

Spake he not to his Prophet of old time ; 

" I form the light, and I the darkness : I 

Make peace, and create evil : I, the Lord, 

Do all these things " ? But half of all these things. 

What hand but mine the doing of them moves '? 

The Evil I, and I the Darkness ! Both 

His work and will : then of his will and work 

The great one-half, made manifest, am I ! 

If I could be aught other than I am, 

I ■ would be he : and in that wish, methinks, 

I own him for my God, and worship him — 

Him — not this Other ; that resembles not 

In aught the God I am content to serve. 

Nor serve I only, but I honor him ; 

Keeping in honor those that serve him here 

Strong kings, shrewd priests, and mighty men of 

war. 
And all that upon earth is honorable. 
But I can neither praise nor tolerate, 
What I protest against, — this latest change 



I02 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Of purpose in the Ever-changing One. • 

Here, for the first time, I seem set aside ; 

And, could I ever weep, I should weep now 

For the perversity of this new plan, 

Perceiving what must happen presently. 

Like some long-trusted counsellor, displaced 

And discontented with the times, am I ; 

Who sees the young prince pulling down the props 

He spent his utmost pains on, to uphold. 

Based on the popular fear, the father's throne. 

I, that have been about the world so long, 

Methinks should know it ; and, if aught I know, 

Men are not to be governed but by fear. 

When they shall lose the wholesome dread, now 

theirs. 
Of kings and priests, what next? Why, men will 

cease 
To fear me even ; and, ceasing to fear me, 
Will cease to fear Jehovah. Heed the event ! 
But meanwhile men shall win their license hard, 
To laugh at what now scares them. I remain 
In spite of the new-comers. Long shall Love 
Red-handed walk the world with Hate's own sword, 
Nor plant one forward footstep, save in blood. 
Therefore I stand here, Angel of the Watch, 
Watching with thee. Whose watch I grudge not. 

Wait. 
For vigil long must be both thine and mine. 
And we will watch together. 

THE ANGEL. 

Wild, as waves 
That wash no shore, words wander. If between 
Yon throbbing lights that round us roll and burn. 



THAN AT OS ATHANATOU. 103 

No radiant interelemental thrill 

Made response to their restless hearts, perchance 

The leaping lightsprings of the Sun himself 

Might blaze in sempiternal blackness, dark 

To orbs beyond the never-beaten bound 

And blank engulfment of his barren globe : 

And all the kindred sovereignties of space. 

His starry peers whose now fraternal fires 

Flash mutual rapture, then would wanly ply 

Pale incommunicable pulses, filled 

With ineffectual fervor. Even so, 

Between us twain, — spirits of spheres that move 

In no same elemental sense of things, 

No corresponsive impulse interchanging 

From simultaneous impact of the Power 

That keeps in commune all the souls it sways, 

— Thought, like a beam that heats not, lights not, 

beating 
On unimpressive absolute nothingness. 
Visits in vain the waste and void of what 
Holds thee and me asunder. 

Obscure Power, 
Which, in the ever-fleeting substance pent 
Of all that passes, all that perishes. 
The Eternal Eire eternally consumes. 
What time from age to age, from hour to hour, 
From soul to soul, burning, it proves itself 
And all things else that Time, as fuel, flings 
Into the furnace of transforming Love, 
Leaving Hate's pile in ashes, — pass thy way, 
And ply thy transitory task ! Which is 
To feed the fervor of the fire of God, 
And speed its issue through the body and form 
Of all experience, which it animates. 



I04 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Ply thou thy task ! accumulating Time's 

Perversenesses, obstructions, enmities, 

And unintelligent antagonisms ; 

Therewith, as fagots for the burning, bound, 

To satisfy the everlasting flame 

Whose altars are the ages : whence it glows 

To spirits of men, — a beacon light ; to thee, 

Whose ever-dwindling substance, in that heat 

Of Heavenly Love, from age to age assumes 

Slow transformation, — thine OAvn funeral pyre ! 

Dull Fiend, the more thou on this Fire of Love 

Hast leave to heap all hideous hatreds, all 

Denials, contradictions, cruelties. 

Fables, and fears, and frenzied shames, — the more 

Shall it, by all such stimulations stung 

To intenser force, burn from the souls of men 

Those multitudinous mischiefs that are made 

Its sacrificial sustenance. 

Enough ! 
Put forth thy hand. 

SATAN. 

Where art thou ? feebly sounds 
Thy voice, vain Angel : strong in word, but weak 
In act to hold what now I seize. Thy voice 
Floats to me, fainter, fainter ! and thy form 
Fades farther, farther, farther, from my ken. 
Thou flyest, Cherub ! 

THE ANGEL. 

Self-deceiver, no ! 
Here, where I was, I am : and what I held 
I hold. But thee thine ever-changing place 
Ilath changed already. Prince of passing ills, 



THAN AT OS ATHANATOU. 105 

Already in the Past thy footstep strays. 
Seeking the Puture. 



SATAN. 

What I seek I find 
In thy despite : and what I find I win, 
This Cross of Christ. 

THE ANGEL. 

The Cross of Christ wins thee. 
As suns draw forth the vapors they dissolve, 
So Love draws Hate, Truth, Falsehood, to itself 
Whose touch annuls them ; ever doomed to seek 
Their destined dissolution. Take thy road. 
Destroyer, to destruction ! Seize thy time. 
And all thy power expend ; whose time is brief. 
Brief shall thy time be, Satan, by so much 
As most thy power is in that time put forth. 
Do thou This Tree the dismal standard make 
Of all the hosts of Darkness. Hither call 
The legioned lies, and wraths, and wrongs, that lurk 
In life's yet dubious twilight. Here, where Christ, 
For man's sake, was by man's hand crucified. 
Let Christless churches crucify man's heart : 
Where pity bled, let pitiless priests proclaim 
Bloody dominion : man's oppressors all. 
Where hung man's Saviour, here their sceptres 

hang. 
What then ? O all unwise in wickedness ! 
The faster thou, to quench this kindled fire 
Of deathless love, devouring deathful ills, 
Shalt heap together from the tangled tracts 
Of thornv Time all stubborn-hearted hates, 



io6 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

So much the sooner, Satan, shall all these 

Be blasted, burned, obliterated, borne 

Into oblivion, — and, with these, thyself 

(The fleeting shadow of a faded shape 

Of darkness in a universe of light, 

Like Sodom's burned-out guilt in gathered smoke 

Above her smouldering ashes, which anon 

Left stainless the eternal heavens) depart 

I know not to what place of unrevealed 

Employment in the Perfectness of Power 

That perfects all things. 

Thou, and what is thine, 
All pomps, all powers, not legalized by love, 
All forms of faith that fall as faith exceeds, 
All bonds that bind, all burdens that oppress, 
Conventions, sects, exclusions, enmities, 
Earth, as Hate makes it, — but the porch of Hell ; 
Heaven, as Fear sees it, — but a heartless eye 
Eixt in the forehead of a frowning Fate, 
Shall surely pass, and haply pass away ; 
But not the Word that Heaven and Earth this day 
Recorded. Therefore, All is well, I say. 
Peace and good-will — God's Will — to man ! 

Amen. 
God's will be done on Earth — good will to men — 
Even as in Heaven. 



SATAN. 

Angel, ay ! But when 9 

{Human voices of those that bear the body o/ Christ 
faintly heard in the distance, dying away. 

Courage, O friends ! endure : 
Bear all thing-s : even as He : 



THAN AT OS ATHANATOU. 107 

Live — as He taught us — pure : 

Die — as He left us — free. 
Ereed from the world that bound us, 

Let the new life begin ! 
What know we of aught around us ? 

We know but what is within. 
Not of the world was He 

When out of the world He chose us : 
. And not of the world are wc : 

And what , if the world oppose us ? 
Struggle we must, and strive, 

Sorrow, and suffer pain : 
Die ever that we may live : 

Lose often that we may gain. 
Say ye not unto the soul, 
" Rest, soul ! it is over." Lo, 
Beyond us is ever the goal, 

And forever before us the foe ! 
The strife that on earth is begun. 

Not on earth is it ended, sure. 
The cause is eternal, one 

With the Godhead. Wherefore endure. 
By the evil here and there 

Try we, and test we, the good : 
And 0, what if the evil were 

Good, only misunderstood ? 
For, knowing not what is below. 

We know not what is above : 
But that all is well we know. 

Knowing that all is love. 



END OF BOOK II. 



BOOK III. 



LOWER EMPIRE. 



ROMANCES. 

" Quid salvum est si Roma perit ? " — IIieronymcs, Ep. 91. 



LICINIUS. 



PART I. 

THE TIME 




I. 

T was the fall and evening of a time 
In whose large daylight, ere it sank, 

sublime 
And strong, as bulks of brazen gods, 
that stand, 
Bare-bodied, with helmed head and armed hand. 
All massive monumental thoughts of hers 
Rome's mind had marked in stately characters 
Against the world's horizon. These, at last, 
Fading, as darkness deepened through her vast 
Dominion, Rome became mere space, spread forth. 
Confused and shapeless, east, west, south, and 

north ; 
And, the whole homeless earth thus made her 

home, 
Rome now might nowhere rid herself of Rome. 
The heavens were all distempered with the breath 
Of her old age. She, very nigh to death. 
Paced through her perishing world in search of 
air 



ii2 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Unpoisoned by herself; but everywhere, 
Like that Greek giant to whose frenzied frame 
The blood of his slain foe clung fast as flame. 
Withering the mighty limbs he could not free 
From their disastrous trophy, so did she, 
Choked by her own ensanguined purple, pant. 

II. 

Rome, in all places earth's inhabitant, 

In no place earth's possessor any more. 

Was thus by Rome pursued from shore to shore. 

And, in that vast and sombre universe 

Which was her dying chamber, 't was Rome's curse 

To see the shadows change to substances. 

The substances to shadows : and all these 

Mocked her dim eye with their delirious train. 

Eor now, from Power decayed, in the dull wane 

And woful wasting out of her spent day, 

Sick vapors rose that, rolling vague and gray, 

Unshapcd the face of everything that was. 

III. 

That severe Senate, once by Cyneas 

To gods in synod likened, was become 

Mere kennel for the curs that crammed in Rome 

(Rome, — robbed in turn by Goth, Hun, Vandal, 

Gaul, 
And, having all devoured, devoured by all !) 
Earth's offal, — the filched filth of every land : 
Mongrels, they licked each new-made master's 

hand, 
Snarling at one another. Gorged with gore, 
The purple gluttons of the globe, — no more 



LICINIUS. 113 

They, whose tremendous sires were fain to tug 
For savage nurture at the she-wolfs dug, 
With Mavors marched, beneath the Bird of Jove, 
To scale the shaken walls o' the world. Craft 

throve 
As courage failed. Nor, now, the People rose, 
And clamored, but the Courtier, plotting close, 
Bided his time, and stabbed. Thus tyrants, dying, 
Made room for tyrants : tyranny thus vying 
With tyranny : to suit which slavery 
With slavery, and fear with fear, did vie ; 
AVhile Roman swords, for daggers used, were red 
With murder, not with conquest. At the head 
Of Rome's worst rabble (ill revering it !) 
A new Religion's weird labarum, writ 
On Rome's red ensigns by a Faith unknown 
To Rome's rude sires, from Tiber, now, to Rhone, 
Replaced her Senate's and her People's name : 
Claiming whose sanction, in contempt of shame. 
Blood-smeared Brutality with grim Disgrace 
Coupled, like dogs, upon the public place. 
Slander, the stylus, Treason plied the knife : 
And, preaching peace, Religion practised strife. 



IV. 

Old things had ceased, nor new things yet begun. 
To justify their place beneath the sun. 
The Future and the Past, contending, wrought 
To wreck the Present, for whose faith they fought : 
And, in the barbarous bosom of the new, 
Grimly the worn-out old world's vices grew. 
Some pure Patrician, in v.'hose veins yet ran 
The scornful blood of sires Etrurian, 



114 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Saw, newly shrined, as, frowning, past he trod. 
The Mother of the GaHlean God, 
And cursed her : some hooli-nosed Antiochene, 
Wliose great-grandfather Paul's first prize had 

been 
Among the Rabbins, on the other side 
Passing, beheld stark naked, wanton-eyed, 
Stout-bodied Venus in her ancient place, 
And spat, devoutly brutal, in her face : 
Some lialf-bred Coesar, waiting for his chance. 
Bowed to both goddesses, and, with a glance 
Behind him, passed, suspicious, on his way. 



Rome, in the main, for her part, like some gray, 

Bedi'idden beldam, petulant and weak, 

That from her own stout firstborn's sunburnt 

cheek, 
And brawny arm, turns, captious, to caress 
The sprawling grandchild on her knees, and bless 
With mumbling lip the unswaddled infaocy 
"Whose manhood will not dawn before she die, 
Less loved whatever rested of her prime 
Than the loud childhood of the later time : 
And the new creed, as babes are by the nurse. 
Fondled and scolded, and both ways made worse. 
Babbling, clenched baby clutches to destroy 
Both sun and moon. An empire was its toy. 
Donatus, with fierce fingers dipped in gall. 
Dragged down Cicilien through the councils all : 
Prom sultry churches Carthagenian 
To convents cold in Aries the echoes ran 
Of curses, all pure Christian, in bad Greek : 



Lie IN I us. 



1^5 



Cicilien damned Donatus. Shriek for shriek, 

And stab for stab, with gladiatorial gust, 

And, clamorous, scattering cumbrous clouds of 

dust, 
Tlie well-matched theologic athletes strove. 
While Caesar, smiling, ejed them from above. 
Meanwhile, amid the hubbub, unalarmed, 
That " Christian Cicero," Lactantius, charmed 
Young Crispus ; and in smoothest Latin praised 
Those Christian virtues on whose work he gazed 
Discomfited the Polytheist sore. 
And smote the fall'n Olympians by the score ; 
Slaughtering, with finely pointed periods 
Of borrowed Ciceronian, Cicero's gods. 

VI. 

Then, when Licinius, Eome's last Eoman, saw 
The gods, his sires had worshipt with grave awe. 
By slave, and savage, pimp, buffoon, and priest 
Scorned and insulted, " Unavenged, at least, 
The great gods die not ! " groaned the gray old 

man. 
And, breaking bound from wilds Pannonian, 
He, with a remnant rallied to the name 
Of Jove the Avenger, crossed the world, and came. 
Camping on Hebrus, to confront the Sign 
Of that new Creed proclaimed by Constantine. 



ii6 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 
PART II. 

THE MAN. 

I. 

Evening. At morn the battle. Met at last, 
Stood, face to face, the Future and the Past. 
Under the Avild and sullen hills of Thrace, 
Ominous, wrathful, ruin in his face, 
On the last day of his own deity 
The sun sunk. Mystic lights, from sky to sky, 
Shot meteoric through the startled stars. 
O'er regions named from him that, born of Mars, 
First reigned among those snowy mountain-tops, 
What time gray Saturn by the sons of Ops 
"Was, in his turn — as, by himself, had been 
Coelus, his sire — dethroned. For Power, not 

e'en 
In Heaven, one hand holds ever. There, while 

o'er 
Eome's antique ensigns, Jove's own Bird once 

more 
Spread his broad wings upon the gloomy air, 
The robed Haruspices, with silent care, 
Prepared the victim, and asperged the sln'ine 
Mysteriously Avith sprinkled meal and wine 
And frankincense, till all together gleamed 
The altars of the Twelve Great Gods, and streamed 
With fragrant fumes. A shout of pride : a sound 
Of shields in closing circle clasht all round 
The central camp : where martial cymbals clanged 



LICINIUS. 117 

Applause, as old Licinius thus harangued 
The legions loyal to the gods he loved : 



II. 

"Romans, whose pride is by your name approved, 
The immortal gods, that to your fathers gave 
The empire they now call their sons to save, 
!From yonder altars on those sons look down, 
And all Olympus deems our cause its own. 
With us the gods to battle go : with us 
Whatever rests of Rome yet virtuous. 
Yet Roman : all of manhood left on earth, 
Of godhood left in Heaven. From every hearth, 
"Where Roman sons revere heroic sires 
Our hearts have caught hereditary fires. 
Each Roman here, to rescue Rome her laws. 
Her gods, her memories, her manhood, draws 
The sword Rome gave her children. Friends, 

our foes 
Not us alone, but the great gods, oppose. 
False to the faith of their forefathers, they, 
To change Rome's laws, and chase her gods away, 
Have arm.ed Dishonor. Such their cause. Our 

own 
To serve, and save, the old worth, the old renown 
Of all that made Rome, Rome. A cause so just 
I, with just faith, to the great gods intrust ; 
Whose cause it is. But if, O friends, in truth. 
All we now fight for, — all that to our youth 
Was sacred, all that to our age is dear. 
The greatness of the gods that we revere. 
The manful Past, that manly minds admire, 
The immortal name of Rome's immortal sire, 



ii8 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

The urns wherein our fathers' dust is laid, 

The shrines they built us, and the laws they made, 

Ay, even the banners that they bore in war ! — 

Were all these things less noble than they are. 

Yet where, in fortune's poorest state, is he. 

So poor in spirit, that can endure to see 

Fouled by the rabble on his own hearth floor 

The meanest garb that his dead father wore '? 

Or what man breathes, though born of humblest 

birth, 
That hallows not whate'er remains on earth, — 
Each frailest relic, and each feeblest trace, 
His reverent love can rescue from disgrace, — 
Of her that bore him 1 Direr monster none, 
Since Pyrrha's age, hath preyed on earth, nor done 
More impious deed, than this unfathered Faith ; 
Man's memories all unmotheriug by a breath 
Which blights the Present, strikes the godlike Past 
Godless, and doth the barren Future blast 
Bare of the bright presiding Powers that blest 
Our great forefathers, gone to glorious rest; 
They in whose names, with pure libations 
Full-poured, our mothers blest their unborn sons ; 
Man's fair familiar Presidencies all, 
Whose forms made sacred even a foeman's hall ! 
These, whom we fight for, are the gods that fought 
For great Achilles ; are the gods that brought 
The wise Ulysses to his island home, 
And brought from Troy the patriarch sire of 

Rome. 
Them old Horaerus, them Virgilius, sung : 
Them heroes worshipt : them we know. This 

young 
New-found lialf-god, Jew-born and bastard both. 



LICINIU8. 



119 



Patron of slaves, and Power of upstart growth, 
Where was he when Troy burned 1 Enough ! 

"We know 
Whose cause is ours, — Pome's cause ! whose foe, 

— Pome's foe ! 
Whose gods, — Rome's gods ! In hands, more 

miglity far 
Than ours, the mighty issues of this war 
Hang. If we fall, Romans, with us falls all 
Romans have lived for. But we cannot fall, 
Rome cannot fall, while yet of Rome there be 
A score of Romans left to cry with me, 
* Honor to our dead fathers ! ' " 

III. 

Proud he spake. 
And from that armed auditory brake 
The multitudinous echo of his mind. 
In human-heai'ted thunder, the night wind 
Rolled hoarse above the battle-heaped ground. 



I20 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

PART III. 
THE GODS. 



But afterward; when, save the steel-shod sound 

O^ the surly sentinel from tent to tent, 

The camps were silent, and the night far spent, 

Licinius, rising in the restless night, 

Mused by the altars of his gods. 

II. 

Faint light 
Streamed from the faded embers, and faint fume. 
O'er all his spirit a supernatural gloom 
Had fall'n, and that profound discouragement 
Which seizes on the soul whose passion, spent 
In stormy thought, leaves action half unnerved. 
In dead cold skies the dark cast, unobserved, 
Waxed sallow. Dead-cold influences passed 
About the old man's heart. Licinius cast 
His body upon the ground, and felt a Fear 
Plant its foot on him in the darkness drear, 
And prayed intensely, as men only pray 
When Fear is on them. Terror passed away. 
A mystic wind was moving in his hair : 
And hands unearthly touched him unaware. 

III. 

lie, gazing up against the scattered gleam 
Of the late stars, what time her dragon team 
The night's moon-fronted maiden charioteer 



LICINIUS. 121 

Down o'er the dark world's edge was driving clear, 
Saw — bright above the black and massy earth, 
From cope to base — beyond the utmost girth 
Of their wide-orbed horizons, the intense 
And intricate heavens, with silent vehemence, 
Burst supernaturally open ; as though 
A bud should in a moment's time, not grow. 
But change itself, into a flower full-blown. 



IV. 

To his sole sight was such a marvel shown. 

The fair Olympians, all at once, and all 

Together, in the Ambrosial Banquet Hall ! 

Each august countenance (vast gladness closed 

In complete calm) ineffably composed 

To an awful beauty. Unendurably bare 

The bright celestial nakednesses were. 

And, far behind those Heavenly Presences, 

Heaven's self lay bare to the innermost abyss 

Of the unsounded azure. Orb in orb 

Of what both seemed to emit and to absorb, 

In the same everlasting moment, light, 

Space, silence, — sporting with the infinite ! 

For, to the universe, the universe 

Listening, the while it answered, did immerse 

The sound within the silentness of things. 

Lights — meteors — mystic messengers, with wings. 

Wands, trumpets, crowns — silently came and 

went 
In the profound but lucid element 
Of that unfathomable, far abysm. 
Wherein (as, cloven by the crystal prism 
It pierces, one pure ray of perfect light 



122 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Doth into divers colors disunite 

And scatter its uncolored unity) 

Life, — all the vast varieties, that lie 

In Life's vast oneness, loosed. Befitting form 

Each Spirit shaped itself from calm, or storm, 

Snow, fire, rain, thunder, and sea-thrilling wind : 

All creatures of the All-creative Mind, 

That makes each moment, and each moment mars 

Its own imaginings : thoughts, many as stars, 

Or birds innumerable upon the wing : 

Some, with congenial chance incarnating 

Their restless essence, and so, brightening : some, 

As soon as born, dissolved within the dome 

Of that deep-lighted distance. Underneath, 

The dim world, wrapt in mist of mortal breath, 

Low glimmering, sea and land. And all about 

The belted orb, close-coiling in and out, 

Like a sleek snake with vary-colored back, 

Glittered the constellated zodiac. 

But, over savage peaks in lonesome lands, 

Plains strewn with battle, billowy seas, blown 

sands 
Where round the ragged bulks of broken ships 
The white foam whirled, — and over leafy slips 
Of sunken lawns, lone isles, and slumbrous lakes. 
Where naked nymphs lured fauns from forest 

brakes. 
To roaring cities, girt with gated walls 
(Whitening whose masoned floors at intervals, 
'Twixt bridges piled, and dark with passing droves, 
Past milk-white temples, past green temple groves. 
Tall obelisks, and statues somnolent. 
Along the streeted wharves the water went 
Barge-laden), slided down the silent sky. 



LTCINIUS. 123 

Bearing disaster, bearing victory, 
With benedictions these, as those with ills, 
The viewless heralds of the Heavenly Wills, 
Unmindful of the murmurine: of mankind. 



All vague as vapor shapen by the Avind 
To mimic mountain, cape, or continent. 
That every moment changes, came and went, 
With wondrous modulation manifold, 
The vision of that marvellous movement, rolled 
Around the zoned orb of Circumstance, 
Revolving in the marginless expanse 
Whereon the serene doors and porches all 
Of that sublime god-builded Banquet Hall 
Opening, let in and out Eternity. 



VI. 

There, midmost of his kindred godheads, high 
In contemplative glory, and calm as morn 
On lone Olympus (where no foot hath worn 
Heaven's white snow from the summit of the 

world) 
Sat Father Jove. From whose crowned temples 

curled 
The locks that, shaken, shake the woody tops 
Of scornful hills, and o'er the full-eared crops 
Koll blighting thunders, in storms, white or blue. 
Of hail and rain. Broad-browed, broad-bearded 

too. 
In meditative mood, with slack right-hand 
The cypress sceptre of his vast command 



124 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

He, leaning foi'ward, lightly held. All bare 
The god's broad chest and ample shoulders were 
For gods, in company with gods, forego 
Disguises meant for men : but all below 
His spacious waist, in floods of massy fold, 
From his large knees the lilied vesture rolled : 
Lest mortal eyes should, even in Heaven, espy 
Aught save the robe that wraps the Deity. 



VII. 

Firm by Jove's foot, watching the heedless play 
Of the low-flighted world, his purblind prey, 
Perched on the sheaved thunders, with keen eye, 
The dusky-feathered King of Birds. Hard by, 
At the right hand of her great spouse, the Queen 
Of scorn, majestic, with man-quelling mien, 
And regnant eyes, whose large looks everywhere 
Were felt in Heaven, gazed from her blazing 

chair ; 
"Whereon, to left and right, from either side 
Four crested peacocks drooped their Argus-eyed 
Junonian trains. Behind, above her head 
The attendant Iris, her handmaiden, spread 
Her bright bow, woven from the azure grain 
Of the midsummer silver-threaded rain. 
That eloquent spirit of the w^oodland air. 
Men call the cuckoo (which, being bodiless there, 
Needs not, and builds not, any nest on earth) 
Sat on her stately sceptre. 

VIII. 

Solemn mirth. 
Like sempiternal summer, filled the hall 



LI cm I us. 125 

Where, round that Twain, the lesser godheads all, 
At ease reclining by the ambrosial board. 
In rosy circle ranged. Save one : Hell's lord, 
The black-browed Pluto. Through Heaven's 

cloudy gaps. 
Where lurk the lightnings, no loud thunder-claps 
Companion (they whose sport on sultry nights 
Peoples the peaked horizon with pale lights) 
His gloomy kingdoms on the nether deep 
Glimmered, as dreams do through the gates of 

Sleep : 
From earth removed than earth is from the sun 
Thrice farther : where sulphureous Phlegethon 
Vomits his sullen ooze, — main sewer of sin. 
That, in Hell ended, doth on earth begin. 
There, dubious in the light by Hecate brewed 
Por ghastly uses, a vast multitude 
Of shapes — all shadows of the lives of men — 
Continually coming, sought the den 
Man's fear digs in his conscience for his crimes : 
The outcasts of all ages, from all climes, 
Doomed by all creeds : Religion's shipwrecked 

crew, 
Barbarian, Roman, Christian, Greek, and Jew : 
Who, in the glare of that disastrous light. 
Gazed on each other's faces (dismal sight!) 
And knew themselves, at last, for kinsmen drear, 
The common offspring of one parent. Pear. 
Por, though man change his gods full many times. 
Yet changed gods change not man, nor he his 

crimes : 
Still from the knowledge of himself he breeds 
Pears that make Hell the helpmate of all creeds, 
Or old or new. And, even already, all 



126 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

The brazen bound of that Tartarean wall, 
Which not the gods themselves can overleap, 
In windy circuit o'er the sulphurous deep, 
Half-Gothic towers, by monkish masons built, 
Put dimly forth. Naught but the shame and guilt 
Seemed real in the ghostly flux below 
Of swimming change, that surged fi'ora woe to 

woe : 
So, flexile as man's ever-moving mind, 
"Whose masonry all monstrous forms combined 
In one immense metropolis of Pain, 
Though moored by Fear upon a midnight main. 
Yet pace with time Hell's fluent structures kept, 
From each new architectural adept 
Fresh grimness winning. 

IX. 

But all this was seen 
In fluctuation indistinct between 
The gaps of Heaven, through fihny distances 
Of darkness, wild as wicked fancy is : 
Nor marred the mirth of that Olympian feast 
More than spots floating on the sun's bright 

breast 
Darken his glory. 

X. 

Only, in the first 
Amazing moment, when the vision burst 
On him that saw it, Hebe, filling up 
With nectarous oenomel a glorious cup. 
Paused, as she poured, and stared, with open eyes 
And open mouth, in half-displeased surprise, 
Upon the wondering mortal. For he had. 



LICINIUS. 127 

To her, the ever-insolently-glad. 
In the great human sadness of his face, 
The aspect of a creature out of place : 
As though into her golden cup had dropped 
A sudden spider. Ganymede, too, stopped 
Teasing Jove's Eagle : who, with a great cry, 
Rose, roughed his feathers, seemed about to fly, 
But, seeing Jove'so quiet, drooped his wing, 
And waited watchful of his keen-eyed king. 
Venus with glance disdainful turned to scan 
The old man's face : then, seeing that the man 
Was chopped with battle, sun-bronzed, seamed 

with scars, 
She, Avhose Avhitc arm was round the throat of 

Mars, 
Pointed a rosy finger, veiling half 
In her soft eyes a little mirthful laugh 
Under delicious lids dark-lashed. But he 
Looked on his worshipper remorsefully, 
As some grave chieftain, when the strife is done, 
Safe and unhurt himself, might gaze upon 
His wounded battle-horse about to die. 
Amor, that, trifling with his bow hard by. 
Noticed not this new-comer of the earth 
(He having both eyes bandaged from his birth) 
Guessed, with that instinct arch to children given 
For mischievous occasion (since, through Heaven, 
The babble of the mighty banquet hall 
Suddenly ceased, a moment's space) that all 
The attention of the gods was occupied : 
And furtively, by Dian unespied, 
From her chaste quiver stole the arrows keen. 
And, in their places, with mock-serious mien, 
The rosy rascal-hearted child his own 



128 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Lascivious little winged darts dropped down. 

Poor Psyche, with sad eyes, silent, apart, 

Sat watching her boy-spouse : and wished his dart 

Had ever been like Dian's. For, though now 

The wrath appeased of Venus did allow 

To her, as true wife of her truant lord, 

Place by his side at the ambrosial board, 

Yet on her still the great gods looked askance, 

As a new-comer, of small circumstance. 

And doubtful origin : and light-hearted Love 

'Mid loose-zoned goddesses was wont to rove 

Not seldom, with no Psyche by his side : 

" For/' said they all, " 't is fit that one allied 

Beneath him, to his nobler native place 

Returning, should consort with his own race, 

Not tamely tied to a mate of meaner birth." 

Such things in Heaven once, and oft on earth, 

Have been. So Psyche mourned to find Love wed 

Was not Love fixt : though stately Hymen said 

Much to console her, whispering at her ear : 

" Love comes and goes : but I am ever here : 

Look in my face : am I not fair 1 " And she. 

Sighing, said only : " O Hymen, counsel me, 

If thou art wise, how souls may hold Love close ! " 



LICINIUS. 129 

PART IV. 

THE PAST. 
I. 

But great Apollo in his glory uprose. 

And, even as when, what time strong mountains 

swoon, 
And tremble, in a sumptuous summer noon, 
And all the under air is still, so still 
That no leaf stirs, o'er some ethereal hill 
Round which heaven's highest influences range 
Invisibly, a cloud, with solemn change, 
Begins to move ; drooping his globed glory 
Slowly adown that inland promontory ; 
So down Olympus moved the Lyric God, 
Majestic. All his serious visage glowed 
With inner light, and music, mixt with fire. 
Streamed from the strings of his Mercurial lyre, 
Preluding prophecy. 

II. 

Severe he stood 
Above the Roman, resting in a flood 
Of radiance clear, and thus stern speech began •: 

*< 111 counselled, and rash-spirited old man ! 
Learn to revere the all-Avise Necessity, 
That to the unceasing wheel of Time, whereby 
Earth takes the shape by Heaven designed, lioIJs 
fast 



I30 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Man's ductile clay ; and, with the solid Past 
Fusing the fluid Present's ardors, doth 
The bright fantastic Future form from both. 
Deera'st thou that, at thy summons, shall return 
To earth the Powers whose parting footsteps spurn 
Shrines where forever, since his course began, 
The Names man worships are belied by man ? 
I will unfold the full mind of the gods, 
From men obscured by Time's dull periods. 
For man was on the earth ere we, that are 
Not his first teachers, nor his last, were 'ware 
Of his unblest condition : who, being born 
Above the brutes, is but the more forlorn, 
If missing consciousness of aught above 
Himself, for him, in turn, to serve and love. 
"We, therefore, then, with gentle visitings, 
To earth descended ; and, from lonesome springs. 
And hollow woods, lending to mountain winds, 
And forest leaves, our language, with men's minds 
Held commune : prompting man, by wishfulncss 
For the divineness of things fair, to press 
Strong search for what they only find that seek. 
Until, at length, from every river creek, 
And winding vale, and wooded mountain, stole 
Upon man's sense, in visible shape, the whole 
Society of that immortal life 
Which, mingling with man's own, made strong its 

strife, 
Inspired its contemplation, beautified 
Its being, and, ennobling earth, allied 
Men, by gods visited, to gods, by men 
Sought and perceived. Nor Avere Ave churlish then 
To mortals. Wisdom, out of whisperous trees, 
More sweet than whitest honey by wild bees 



* LICINIUS. 131 

Sucked from Midsummer's veins, to shepherd 

priests 
We poured in oracles ; and at men's feasts 
Sat down familiar, or beside their hearths ; 
Teaching Old Age how best the daedal earth's 
Wind-sown abundance, might, by skill increased. 
Be harvested, when manful Youth the beast. 
That's foe to man, had, helped of us, subdued : 
Youth, whose yet earnest eyes in ours first viewed 
The images of what man's life might be 
By imitating gods ! Neither did we 
Withhold the godlike gift of glorious Song. 
Brutish we found man's life, the brutes among ; 
Beauteous we strove to make it ... . strove in vain ! 
Since man's low nature, failing to attain 
The life of gods, but filched from gods their names 
To deify what most degrades, most shames. 
The life of man. 111 thanked was all our toil ! 
To glorify earth's clay, O, not to soil 
Heaven's azure ! came we from the kindly skies. 
Kindling immortal fire in mortal eyes. 
We gave men Beauty. But our gift, misused. 
Hath Avrouged the givers. Have not men abused 
Our very names, invoking them amiss 
To deify ill deeds ? Was it for this 
Dian is chaste 1 Mars brave ? and Venus fair ? 
And Jove just-minded ? Wherefore, whatsoe'er 
Henceforth men worship (whose base sense, indeed, 
With its own baseness grown content, hath need — 
If any price man's race may ransom yet 
From bondage to its own bad life — to get. 
By sharp compulsion of Heaven's highest will, 
Keen knowledge of a nobler godhead, still 
More potent, or more pitiful, than ours. 



132 



CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 



Whose images men's hands have hid with flowers 
So thick, men's eyes no longer mark the frown 
On each wronged forehead 'neath its shameful 

crown) 
We, at the least, resign man's earth, and man, 
To fates by us no more controlled. Nor can 
Man's worship mock our altars any more. 
Not unto us, henceforth, your priests shall pour 
The victim's blood. Not ours, henceforth, the 

names 
Invoked on earth to sanction earth's worst shames. 
Not simulating service in our cause 
Shall Fraud forge Heaven's approval of the laws 
Devised by wicked Force to sanction Wrong. 
Not ours the worshippers whose zeal shall throng 
Dungeons with d3'ing, charnel dens with dead. 
Nor yet to us shall praise be sung, prayer said, 
Whenever men henceforth have injured men. 
Why should we bide on earth, and be again 
Dishonored in the deeds Avhereby mankind 
Profess to honor Heaven ? 

" Yet shall they find. 
Who yet may seek, us. Not where we have been. 
By thrones, on altars, seen, and vainly seen. 
Through purchased incense clouding shrines pro- 
faned ! 
But I, that from of old this power attained, — 
Having foreseen the Future, — to make fast 
What in the Future man desires, — the Past, 
Have wrought for man, by means of mighty Song, 
A mystic world, which neither change can wrong, 
Nor time can trouble. And, therein, man yet 
May gaze on gods, and fashion from Regret 
Fair forms resembling Hope. Wherefore, do thou 



LICINIUS. 



133 



Cease to avoid the Inevitable. Know 

That we, the gods, who minister no more 

To man's ambition, fairer than of yore 

Thy fathers found us, since henceforth set free 

From all that mixt us with mortality, 

Range undisturbed, beyond all reach of change, 

In regions where immortal memories range, 

TJnvext by mortal hopes : responsible 

For mortal wrongs no longer. 

" Deem not ill 
For man whatever betters aught man deems. 
Or hath deemed, beautiful, though but in dreams. 
Not by shrines shattered, not by statues spurned. 
Temples deserted, altars overturned. 
And incense stinted, are the gods disgraced ; 
But by base homage of a herd debased, 
By Faith in service to a fraudful Force, 
And wrongful deed by righteous name made worse. 

" Nor yet, before the blaze of shrines not ours. 
Fail we, or fall we. For the Heavenly Powers 
Strive not against each other, as do those 
Earth breeds of earth ; nor can the gods be foes 
O' the Godhead. Conquered are we not: since 

not 
Contending. Deemest thou that Time can plot 
Against Eternity ? Fool ! doth the seed 
Grudge to his place the tree 't was born to breed ? 
The bud the blossom which it bursts to bear, 
"When Summer's summons through the sunlit 

air 
Shatters the long-shut sleep, whose dreams occult 
Are realized in sleep's aroused result ? 
Time, that returns not, errs not. Be content. 



134 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Knowing thus much : nor toil against the event 
Whereto Time tends." 

III. 

Thus, frowning, Phoebus said. 
And Jove, from high Olympus, bowed his head. 



LI cm I us. 135 



PART V. 

THE PRESENT. 

I. 

There is a stillness of the upper air, 
Foreboding change ; when mighty winds prepare 
In secret sudden war upon the world. 
And when that stillness breaks, forests are hurled 
Asunder, and sea-sceptring navies drowned. 
There is another stillness, more profound. 
Worse change foreboding ; of the inmost soul. 
In that dread moment when, from the control 
Of life's long acquiescence in whate'er 
Life's faith has been, revolted thoughts prepare 
War on man's nature. When that stillness breaks, 
A heart breaks with it, in the shock tliat shakes 
Deep-planted custom, and roots up the hold 
Of long-grown habit, and observance old. 

From such a stillness in himself, at last, 

Licinius raised his voice. The spasm, that passed 

Across the quivering features of the man, 

Smit by stern speech from lips Olympian, 

Vcxt, as it rose, the staggering voice, down-weighed 

With heavy meanings hard to express. 

II. 

He said : 
" Immortal gods, by Rome revered ! to me, 
A mortal man, revering Rome, did she 
This creed bequeath ; that to all sons she bears 



136 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

There is but One Necessity (made theirs 
In Rome's requital for a Roman's name) — 
Living or dying, never to know shame : 
Never to shrink from pain : never recant 
Recorded faith : never be suppliant 
For life less noble than 't is man's to make 
Death in the cause which, even though gods for- 
sake, 
Honor, retained, keeps sacred to the last. 
This, also, in the records of Rome's Past 
My life read once : and read long since, indeed, 
Too far to new-live now a new-learned creed : — 
That, when to all the creatures under heaven 
Their severally allotted tasks were given, 
On man — man only — the injunction fell, 
To do, by daring, the impossible : 
That he who doth, though dying, dauntless still, 
Plant the pale standard of unbafEed Will 
On Pate's breached battlements, and to the end. 
Defeating thus defeat itself, contend 
Tenacious in the teeth of tenfold odds. 
Uplifts the life he loses to the gods. 

" Lies ! lies ! all lies ! Since gods live careless 

lives, 
Concerned in naught for which man's being strives. 
Justice ? men deemed the image of the mind 
Of gods — a mere invention of mankind ! 
Love ? — some blind blood-beat in tlie veins of 

youth ! 
Belief ? — man's substitute for knowledge ! Truth ? 
— Unknown in Heaven ! Why man, whom you 

despise, 
O'erweening gods, for getting all these lies 



LICINIUS. 



137 



By heart in vain, seems nobler after all, 
More godlike, than yourselves. 

" Nor yet, so small, 
So slight, so all unworthy, first appeared 
Man's race, but what you gods have interfered 
Too much with man's condition to assume 
This late indifference to your work, — his doom. , 
Since one thing have you been at pains to do, — 
To cheat the chosen fools that trusted yon. 
False gods, and filch thanksgiving, foully gained. 
For all whereto the woful end ordained 
Was but betrayal. 

" What ! then all meant naught ? 
All, all, that Delos told and Delphi taught. 
Though a god spake it ? All your oracles, 
Your priests, your bards, your sacred woods and 

wells 1 
Liars of lies ! all pledged to cheat man's hope 
In gods too careless, or too weak, to cope 
With aught man suffers ! 

" Well can I believe 
How man's imperfect progress might deceive. 
And fail, as 't were (man's prowess, at the best, 
Crippled by means inadequate confessed ! ) 
The august hopes, by some bright periods 
Of his brave promise, in the mind of gods 
Inspired. But I, a man, no way can find 
Among the many wanderings of my mind, 
To imagine even how gods (whose godheads are 
Glorious with power, each perfect as a star) 
Should at the last fall short of hopes by them 
In man's mind once awakened. 

" Gods, condemn, 
Punish man, plague him .... but forsake him i 

No! 



138 CHROiVICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Not for 3^oiir own sakes ! Lest your godlioods grow. 
From long disuse of godlike attributes, 
Less lovely even than the life of brutes, 
Not being so helpful. 

" Yet, howe'er that be, 
I, at the least, have loved ye, trusted ye. 
So long that, though for me you fight no more, 
Still must I fight for you. 'T will soon be o'er : 
Or one way, or another. Soonest, best, 
I think : nor greatly care to know the rest. 
One thing 's to gain yet — death. No room to 

range 
From what I am ! The gods may change, Fate 

change, 
I cannot. Not each casual tomb will fit 
The fame a Roman's death consigns to it. 
And I for this too-long-continued life 
Must find fit end : hew out, Vv'ith gods at strife, 
Though sword break, heart break, all break, in the 

attempt, 
Memorial — mournful, but, at least, exempt 
From all incongruous contradiction vile. 
Nor is life left me to lament, meanwhile, 
Life's failure, — frustrate faith, and fruitless deed ! 
One life, wherewith to fail, or to succeed, 
Is man's. One only. I, at my life's end. 
Cannot go back to the beginning, — mend 
What it hath made me, — unlove what I loved, — 
Love what I loathed, — condemn what I ap- 
proved, — 
New-self myself, to suit occasion new. 
The arrow, sped, must still its flight pursue 
As first the bowman aimed it, though since then 
The bowman shift his ground. Life speeds with 
men 



LICINIUS. 139 

Even thus. And few can clioose, none change, 

what 's done. 
A man hath but one mother : and but one 
Childhood : one past : one future : but one hearth : 
One heart, — to give or keep : one Heaven : one 

earth : 
And one religion. 

"Yet thus much, though spent 
His force, and spoiled his whole life's element, 
A man may do : and this, at least, will I ! 
Ere, quenched, the fires that still consume me, die, 
I will collect their scattered heats, push all 
Life's ashes, even while yet the embers fall. 
Into a heap, and send the dying flame 
Eull in Heaven's face ! 

" O worthy of thy name, 
Loxian Apollo ! Boots it me to know 
That men may see thee, as I see thee now. 
Far from the life thy beauty doth but wrong. 
Calm on the golden summits of Old Song 1 
No singer I ! but a dull soldier : fit 
Simply to love a thing, and fight for it. 
Or hate a thing, and fight against it. Vent 
My soul in song, I cannot, I ! content 
To do, at least, what merits to be sung : 
Holdfast, when old, the faith I pledged when young : 
Live up to it : die for it, if needs be. 
What comfort, O Apollo, dwells for me. 
Or what for any man, in leave to praise 
The life of gods whose life his own betrays ? 
Their loves, that love him not ? their power, that is 
The mockery of the weakness they leave his ? 
Sing no more songs, Apollo, in men's ears ! 
Leave us, ye gods, in silence to the tears 



I40 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

You understand not ! 
Distracting visions of 
This, also, ere I die." 



You understand not ! Spare this much-vext earth 
Distracting: visions of Heaven's unshared mirth ! 



III. 

But there, his heart 
Brake the thought in it, sharply ; as a dart 
Breaks, in the effort of a wounded man 
To pluck it from the wound. 

O'er Heaven's face ran 
A tremble of white anger : like the light 
Of wind-blown stars when, on a winter night. 
The howling earth-born gust, that devastates 
His own dark birthplace, having burst the grates 
Of some grim-pillared forest (whose black bars 
Eelease him, groaning) strives against the stars ; 
Their icy brilliance only kindling thus 
To a keener glory. Eyes contemptuous. 
Eyes cruel with calm scorn of all that pain 
Which scorched his own, burned on him. The dis- 
dain 
Of brows divine, in phalanx infinite 
And formidable of transcendent light, 
Glowed from Heaven's depths against him. But 

all these 
Luminous and severe solemnities 
He noticed not. For, when the wretched man 
First to accuse the assembled gods began. 
Love, from the midmost rosy Heaven, where he 
Was sporting, stole a-tiptoe, curiously. 
Closer at each word, by no eyes perceived 
Save Psyche's, brightening while her bosom heaved 
With some unwonted spasm, and her sad brow 
Flushed, as a pale star flushes when the glow 



LICINIU8. 141 

Of the full-flowing sunset, sweet and warm, 
Is poured upon it. With half-lifted arm, 
And troubled countenance, and listening ear, 
Love, thus, in pensive posture, lingered near 
Whence came that voice (among their bright 

abodes 
Ambrosial, then first heard by those glad gods) 
Of Human Pain denouncing Heavenly Joy. 
And, on the blind face of the beauteous Boy 
The man's look lightening, as he lifted it 
Defiant of whatever it might meet 
In Heaven, was caught, and fastened where it fell, 
By new incentive irresistible 
To special indignation. Even as when 
In the thronged circus, from the swarm of men 
That hem and hurt him, some wild beast selects 
One man, whom suddenly his wrath detects 
As most obnoxious, and, in mid assault 
On all the others, swiftly swerves, makes halt, 
And flies at him that 's nearest ; so the man, 
From all that hostile cirque Olympian 
Selecting Love, cried to him : 

IV. 

" Thou immature 
And mindless god ! v/hose smiling sinecure 
Is but a blindfold childhood never grown ! 
Comest thou to mock at what thou hast not known, 
— Man's full-grown misery at the end of all 
The strivings of a life, spent past recall, 
Used out, in urging, on its destined way 
To dissolution, force that went astray 
By struggling upwards ? Such a vapor streams 



142 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

From altars vainly lit ; which, though it seems 
To go up to the gods, goes nowhere — is 
Made nothing, merged in that wide nothingness 
Men take for Heaven ! Thou purblind lord of all 
Purblindest instincts ! thee, not Love I call, 
But Lust. For man's loss, Love must needs be 

sad : 
Lust, with no eyes to see man's loss, is glad. 
As thou art. Yet, since men misname thee Love, 
Loose, if thou canst, what, pent in me, doth move 
Importunate, as some dumb creature curst 
With such a secret as at length must burst 
Its heart, endeavoring to be understood. 

Love, if thou be Love, pluck off that hood 
That hides thine eyes from human grief. Revere 
Love's last result on earth, — a wretch's tear! 
Break silence. Love ! Thee only, of the gods, 

1 ask .... What is it heaves earth's sullen clods 
When Spring winds, wet with tears from trembling 

boughs, 
Breathe, and behold ! in place of snows (those 

snows 
Themselves earth's seasonable comforters) 
The abounding violet ! Or what Spirit stirs 
In tones and scents that bathe man's wearied heart 
With fresh belief, and bid the strong tears start 
For solemn joy 1 What mystic inmate gives 
Some sense of loveliness to all that lives ; 
Some worth, though hindered, to the humblest 

worm 
That crawls ; some purpose to the poorest germ 
That buds unwitnessed from the meanest seed ; 
Some beauty to the barest rock's worst weed 1 
Which, through all pores of Being, everywhere 



LICINIUS. 



143 



Passing, at last, into Man's Life ; and there 
Changing what was (till such a change it knew) 
Merely, perchance, some droplet of wild dew, 
Clasping a thorn, to Pity ; some tost sea, 
To Aspiration passionate ; some tree. 
That struggles with the savage gust forlorn 
All night, wherein a wild bird sings at morn 
Exulting, to the Fortitude of Faith ; 
In Man grows audible ; speaks out, and saith 
To Heaven, " Await me ! " with a human voice : 
Man here, God everyAvhere ! Which doth rejoice. 
And droop, live, strive, and grieve, and grow, with 

man : 
And so, completing from all points, the plan 
Of a god's vast experience in God's Bliss, — 
Too perfect, too immeasurable, to miss 
The manifold significance of tears. 
Strength strained from weakness, struggle that 

endears 
Triumph, and failure forced into success, — 
Looks down through all inferior grades to bless 
Life's hopes with Love's assurance of the end 
Whereto all Life, by Love insijired, doth tend ! 
Such a god dare not be indifferent 
To man's success or failure : He, the Event, 
Which man. His Means, he fashions to fulfil : 
A god's means, therefore worth a god's care still ! 
O, such a god, my spirit whispers me, 
Though nameless yet, and yet unknown, must be. 
I seek His Face among your faces all. 
Olympians ; and, not finding it, I call 
Earth's avoc to witness that you do not well, 
Being gods, to leave man godless You ! that 

tell, 



144 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Smiling the while, as you depart serene, 
Me that have loved you, me whose life hath been 
Yours, though in vain, yours past recovery, here 
At that life's cheated end, to now revere 
What love of you hath bid me loathe .... 

'' If he — 
If he, indeed, were — what ye are not, ye ! — 
That God — that Love, which .... Ah, but know 

I not. 
Too well, with cause to curse them all for what 
They are — and do — his worshippers "? the late 
Last form of man's forlornness .... men that 

hate 
Even each other ! 

" Fair, false Forms depart ! 
Happy in ignorance of the human heart 
You have deceived ! Apollo, load some star 
With liquid music far from earth ! Far, far 
From eyes worn out with weeping wasted love, 
Venus, guide whatever golden dove 
Delights to draw thy lucid wheels ! 

" But we ? 
The men that loved you, and are left ? 

"Ah me, 
What goal to us remains, whose course some Fate 
Impels unwilling Avhere no prize can wait 
The weary runner ? 

" He, that late is come 
To rule from your abandoned thrones the scum 
And sewage of that rough-hewn rabble world 
Wrought from the ruins of Rome's pride down- 
hurled. 
Why comes he noAv, who comes so late ? He too. 
Hath he not all too long connived with you 



LICINIUS. 



HS 



At man's disaster ? If he love to be 
Beloved of men, why so long lingered he ? 
Letting men grow familiar, age by age, 
With gods not destined to endure ; engage, 
Unwarned, to you the homage, he now claims, 
And you resign ; while men that got your names 
By heart, have now no heart left to unlearn 
The faitlj which, sued for ages, given, you spurn ! 
Is nothing sure 1 Must man's existence be 
Bartered and bandied thus eternally 
From god to god '? By each new master made 
Pull down in haste what each last master bade 
The o'ertasked drudge build up with toil intense ? 
O for some voice Love's sanction to dispense 
To Life's endeavor ! for one, but one. 
Of all you gods, whose forms 3 gaze upon 
With grief left godless, to assure at last 
This else-wronged spirit, that, in despite the Past, 
Which failed in power, the Present, by despair 
Darkened, the Future, desolate and bare. 
It did not ill to trust an instinct, wronged 
Not seldom, oft rebuked, but yet prolonged 
Through strangling hindrance and confounding 

chance ; 
Which, fronting Heaven with constant counte- 
nance, 
Would whisper, ' I am love, and love is there, 
And love to love is kindred everywhere ! ' 
But which of all the gods can do this ? " 



lO 



146 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 



PAET VI. 

THE FUTURE. 

I. 

"I !" 

Love answered ; and spi-ang forth with such a cry 
As paled, beneath their golden porches, all 
The rosy lords of that Ambrosial Hall. 
Olympus groaned aghast beneath the sound, 
Whereto the throbbing universe all round 
Responded with a million echoes wild 
Of awful joy. 

II. 

For lo ! the glorious child, 
By one transcendent moment's mighty throe, 
Full-statured sprang into the new-born glow 
Of his superlative godhead. His right hand 
Wrenched from his lustrous orbs the blinding band 
That had for ages held their lordly light 
From flooding heaven and earth with infinite 
And all-transforming splendor. Faint and wan 
Waxed all the lesser lights Olympian 
In the sunrise of that surpassing gaze : 
Like their own orbs. Mars, with diminisht rays, 
Reddening, receded to what seemed at last 
A single spot of angry fire in fast- 
Increasing distance. Like a happy tear 
About to fall, Venus, a trembling sphere 
All pale in rosy air, descended slow. 
Of Pha3bus rested nothing but a glow 
Of solemn gladness on heaven's serene face. 



LICINIUS. 147 

Even Jove himself, in that expanding space 
Love's ever-greatening glory lit, became 
No brighter than his own broad star, whose flame 
Burns lone on night's far frontier. 

III. 

In amaze. 
Beneath the Face whereon he dared not gaze. 
The man, prostrated, fell. In whose thrilled ears 
A voice rang, musical as moving spheres : 
" The sound of Human Sorrow heard in Heaven, 
Immortal love to mortal life hath given ; 
Whereby in grief of life is growth of love. 
Arise ! On Earth below, in Heaven above, 
Part of all creeds, and every creed surviving, 
The Ever-loving is the Ever-living. 
Heavenly and Human both : which, through man's 

eyes 
Forever gazing npAvard, to Heaven cries, 
* Behold me. Father ! ' and from Heaven anon 
Down gazing cries to Earth, ' Behold me. Son ! ' 
Arise, and follow where Love leads." 

IV. 

The man 
Arose, and, guided by the Voice, began 
To ascend that solemn mountain. Changed was 

all 
Its aspect. Gone the Olympian Festival ! 
Gone all the rosy revellers ! Rough the road 
With raunce and bramble, where once breathed 

and glowed 
The clear-cupped cistus and bright asphodel. 
And lo, where last each golden goblet fell. 



148 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

A grinning skull ! On the sharp summit seemed. 
Where late Olympian Jove's bright throne had 

beamed, 
Some dim stupendous image, looming through 
Red morn's dull mist, and lurid in the dew, 
Till at its foot the god-led mortal stood : 
Then on his brow fell drops of human blood 
From a great Cross, wide-armed, that o'er him 

spread. 

V. 

He shrank, indignant. 

Music o'er his head, 
Like a light bird, came fluttering. And again, 
To that light music lured, in mistlike train, 
From rosiest air's remotest inmost deep, 
Trooped — dim and beautiful, as dreams that creep 
Under the sweet lids of a sleeping child. 
On whose wet lashes tears, though reconciled 
With trouble soon dismissed, are trembling new — 
The old Olympians. Wreaths of every hue, 
Fresh-pluckt from bowers of never-fading Thouglit 
In Memory's dewiest meadow-deeps, tliey brought. 
Wherewith to deck that darkling Cross. Whereon 
The Past's pale blossom-bearers every one, 
Each as he came, fresh garlands hung. Till, lo ! 
The Cross in flowers, — the flowers themselves, — 

the flow 
Of flower-bearers, — all, began to fade 
In ever-deepening light. 

VI. 

Love, only, staid. 
Yet Love's self changed. Whose form, expand- 
ing, seemed, 



LICINIUS. 149 

To him on whose awed gaze its gloiy beamed, 
To absorb into itself all things that were. 
Heaven's farthest stars were glittering in his hair ; 
All winds of heaven his breathing loosed or bound : 
His voice became an ever-murmuring sound, 
The sound of generations of mankind : 
Shut in his hand, the nations hummed : Time 

twined 
About-his feet its creeping growths ; which took 
Erom him the life-sap of the leaves that shook 
Light shadows from his glory. 

VII. 

Mute with awe, 
And lost in light, Licinius mused. He saw 
His own life, suddenly, as when, through rain 
And streaming tempest, on a blasted plain 
An instantaneous sunbeam strikes. 

VIII. 

Even then. 
Even while the vision broadened on his ken, 
A sndden trumpet sounded as in scorn 
From the dark camps. 

It was the battle morn. 




I50 CUR ONI CLE S AND CHARACTERS. 



GENSEKIC. 

]ENSERIC, King of the Vandals, who, 
having laid waste seven lands, 
Erom Tripolis far as Tangier, from the 
sea to the Great Desert sands, 
Was lord of the Moor and the African, — thirsting 

anon for new slaughter, 
Sailed out of Carthage, and sailed o'er the Med- 
iterranean water ; 
Plundered Palermo, seized Sicily, sacked the Lu- 

canian coast, 
And paused, and said, laughing, " Where next ? " 
Then there came to the Vandal a Ghost 
From the Shadowy Land that lies hid and un- 
known in the Darkness Below, 
And answered, " To Rome ! " 

Said the King to the Ghost, " And 
whose envoy art thou '? 
Whence art thou 1 and name me his name that hath 

sent thee : and say what is thine." 
" From far : and His name that hath sent me is 

God," the Ghost answered, " and mine 
Was Hannibal once, ere thou wast : and the name 

that I now have is Fate. 
But arise, and be swift, and return. For God waits, 

and the moment is late." 
And " I go," said the Vandal. And Avent. 

When at last to the gates he was come, 
Loud he knocked with his fierce iron fist. And full 
drowsily answered him Rome. 



GENSERIC. 



151 



" Who is it that knocketh so loud 1 Get thee hence. 

Let me be. For 't is late." 
" Thou art wanted/' cried Genseric. " Open ! 

His name that hath sent me is Fate, 
And mine, who knock late, Retribution." 

Rome gave him her glorious things : 
The keys she had conquei'ed from kingdoms : the 

crowns she had wrested from kings : 
And Genseric bore them away into Carthage, 

avenged thus on Rome, 
And paused, and said, laughing, " Where next ■? " 
And again the Ghost answered 
him, " Home ! 
For now God doth need thee no longer." 

" Where leadest thou me by the hand 1 " 
Cried the King to the Ghost. And the Ghost an- 
swered, 

" Into the Shadowy Land." 



I5Z CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

IRENE. 

" Ye have done it unto me." — Matt. xxv. 40. 
I. 




HE moonlight lay like hoar-frost on the 

earth 
Outside. But, all within, the marble 

hearth 

Made from its dropping logs of scented wood 
A rosy dimness of warm light, to flood 
With fervid interchange of gloom and gleam 
That gorgeous chamber, — from the mad moon- 
beam 
Curtained secure. No other light was there. 
The outer halls were silent everywhere. 
Midnight. And in the bed where he was born, 
I' the Porphyry Chamber at Byzance, outworn 
By seventeen years of pleasure without joy. 
Not yet a man, albeit no more a boy, 
His flusht cheek heavy on the fragrant sheet, 
Slept Constantine the Porphyrogenete ; 
When glided in his mother leonine, 
Irene. 

II. 

She, reluctant to resign 
To her own whelp that prey beneath her paw. 
The bloody Empire, stealthily 'gan draw 
The crimson curtain ; with keen ear down-bent 
To count the breathings, thick and indolent, 
Of her recaptured cub : who, sleeping, smiled, 



IRENE. 153 

By visions leAvd of folly and lust beguiled. 
Anon, she beckoned to the unshut door : 
Whence, crafty-footed, down the glassy floor 
Crept to her side (with withered features white 
Bowed o'er a trembling lamp) her parasite, 
Storax, the lean-lijiped, low-browed Logothete. 

III. 

« Set the lamp down," the mother muttered. 

" Sweet 
Must be his dreams. My son is smiling .... see ! 
Wake him not, Storax ! " Then, while softly she 
Let fall the curtain, he from out its sheath 
Slided his dagger, pusht the flame beneath 
The weapon's point, and watched with moody eye 
The heated metal reddening. 

O'er the high 
Bed-head (to safeguard sleeping Caesars, slung 
Slant from the golden-sculptured cornice) hung 
On dismal ebon cross limbs, carven keen 
In livid ivory, of a stretched-out, lean, 
And ever-dying Christ 

IV. 

(For, not long since, — 
As rapturous Priests remember, — to evince 
For God's Chui'ch Orthodox her filial zeal, 
Irene's righteous regency, — with heel 
Set on the heads heretical of all 
Iconoclasts, had rescued from their fall 
The Images of God, — assaulted sore 
Erewhile by Antichrist's mad Emperor, 
That " hell-born dragon," " the Old Serpent's 
grub," 



154 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

" Black-spotted panther of Beelzebub," 

Whom, being dead now, lodged, too, in hell's 

flame, 
God-fearing folks no longer fear to name 
Accurst Copronymus.) 



V. 

.... His Avhite lips set 
Fast with a formidable will, while yet 
Storax, who turned and turned it slowly, scanned 
The reddening steel, Irene's rapid hand. 
With restless finger o'er her puckered brow 
Flitting, made airy crosses in a row. 
Her eyes had settled sullenly upon 
The superimpending image of God's Son : 
And Habit, — that hard mock-bird of the mind, 
Whose tongue, to chance-got utterance confined, 
Memories by chance recaptured out of place 
Sot talking out of season, — to the Face 
Mechanic response making, " If thine eye 
Offend thee, pluck it out,'' she muttered. " Ay, 
That is sound Gospel," Storax in her ear 
Whispered. " The thing is white-hot now .... 

See here ! " 
" And I am Empress " . . . . hissed Irene .... 

" Smite ! " 



VI. 

The armed Armenian on the guard that night 
About the jDalace precincts somnolent, 
Wliei-e, like a weary beetle, came and went 
Across the flinty platform, — else dead-dumb, — 
The slumbrous city's desultory hum, 



IRENE. 



155 



Heard, pacing drowsy-cold (liis watch nigh done), 
Beneath the stars, through shrivelling silence run 
A sudden, scream, fierce, devilish, agonized. 
Of quintessential pain ; and all surprised 
Started upon the watch, — waiting Avhat sound 
Siiould follow. But that dreadful cry, soon 

drowned 
In dreadful silence, response none uproused. 
Save of an owlish echo half unhoused 
Among the moody towers, that down again 
With churlish mumblings in her masoned den 
Settled to slumber. 

Then the soldier said, 
Laughing at the discovery he had made 
Of what, to Mm at least, that sound meant, " So ! 
To-morroAV, and the amphorai shall flow. 
Increase of pay to all the Armenian Guard ! " 
Whereat he turned, and (while i' the east, black- 
barred 
With lazy clouds, slow-oozed a watery light) 
Waited, well-pleased, the trump of dawn. 

VII. 

That night, 
In league with Hell, ere morning streaked the skies, 
Left all its darkness in the misused eyes 
Of Constantine the Porphyrogenete : — 
The shadow of a shadow, forced to fleet 
Out of the glare that gave him in men's sight 
The semblance of a substance once. 

VIII. 

That night, 
Irene, ere the Porphyry Chamber (pale 



156 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

With strife wherein to triumph is to fail) 

She left triumphant, glancing back, — her glance 

Fell casual on the conscious countenance 

Of that white Christ upon the black cross spread, 

Whose eyes, into the uow-close-curtained bed 

Erewhile down-gazing, had beheld why those 

Tight draperies round it had been twitched so close. 

And lo ! where late those witnesses had been, 

Instead of eyes, two gory sockets, seen 

Through the red firelight, stopped her, staggered her, 

And to a Fear, wherefrom she dared not stir, 

Fastened and froze her. 

For a while she stood 
As one that, traversing a solitude 
Where nothing dwells but Danger (all in haste 
To reach the end, and, after peril faced 
And passed, proclaim, " The deed I dared is 

done!") 
Turns, by ill chance, midway, to gaze upon 
Some hideous gulf in safety crossed ; and so, 
Seeing how deep the death that yawns below. 
By unanticipated terror, just 
In the fresh moment of achievement, thrust 
Into the suddenly suggested jaws 
Of an imaginary failure, draws 
Breath faint and fainter; forced to keep in sight 
His own success, which, seen, defeats him quite. 
But, soon returned, the exasperated will, 
Still strong to scourge the rebel senses, still 
Defiant though dismayed, Avith effort fierce 
Plucked uj) the keen-cold Fear that seemed to pierce 
Her feet, and fix them to the floor, beneath 
That eyeless gaze. And, at the sculptured wreath 
Above the unblest bed wherefrom It huns: 



IRENE. 



157 



She, like a Avounded cat o' the mountain, sprung. 
And caught, and gripped, and tugged, and tore 

away, 
And crouched with glaring face above, her prey, — 
God's Image. 

Still that dreadful dearth of eyes 
In the dread Face ! 

With fierce and bitter cries 
She dasht It sharp against the marble floor, 
And bruised It with wild feet. 

Still as before 
The Eyeless Face implied . . . . " Do what thou wilt 
Henceforth, and hug thy gain, or hate thy guilt. 
Never shalt thou behold God's eyes." 

She snatched 
And hurled It on the smouldering hearth : and 

watched 
The embers quicken round It : heaped up wood, 
And made the blaze leap high : and all night stood 
Feeding the flame : till all was burned away 
To ashes. 

And ere this was done, the day 



Began to dawn. 



IX. 



Afterwards, she became 
One of the world's chief rulers. Her fair name 
Was praised in all the churches. God's priests 

prayed 
God to safeguard the mighty throne she made 
Illustrious. 

Three times, — in the hippodrome 
Once, in the palace once, once 'neath the dome 
O' the high cathedral, — the Estates took oath 



158 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

After this fashion . . . . " "Witness Christ ! we both 

Swear, on the Gospels Four, to guard the throne 

Of our Liege Lady, thine anointed one, 

Irene, and swear also, bearing leal 

Allegiance to her person, for her weal 

And in her service, ever to oppose 

Our lives against the persons of her foes." 

This on the Avood of the True Cross they swore. 

And their recorded oath, with many more. 

Among the relics of the Saintly Dead, 

On the main altar was deposited 

In St. Sophia. 

Four Patricians, proud 
So to be seen of the applausive crowd. 
Held in their hands the golden reins of four 
White horses, pacing in high pomp before 
Her festive chariot, when Irene passed 
Along the loud streets, greeted by the vast 
Vociferation of a land's applause. 



X. 

To all the Roman world she set wise laws. 

Men praised her wisdom. Wealth was hers im- 
mense. 

Men praised her splendor and munificence. 

Alms to the poor her hand distributed. 

Men praised her bounty. High she held her head 

Amid the tempests of a turbulent time. 

Men praised her courage. Cruelty and crime 

She scourged with scorpions. Men her justice 
praised. 

Gifts to the Church she gave, and altars raised. 

Men praised her piety. She in the West 



IRENE. 



159 



Treaties proposed, and embassies addrest 
To Cliarleraagne. She in the East maintained 
On equal terms alliance undisdained 
With great liaroun Alraschid. *' For," said she, 
" We understand each other's worth, We Three." 
The world, when speaking of her, said, " The 
Great." 

XI. 

At last her fortune changed. 

For 't was her fate 
To win a worthier title. So, one night, 
The eunuchs of her palace, — slaves whose spite 
Her power had scorned, — conspiring its downfall, 
Plucked the throne from her : seized her treasures 

all; 
And drave her forth from power and wealth, to be 
An exile and a pauper. 

Meekly she 
Surrendered what she had so proudly worn, 
Rome's Purple. And, retiring from men's scorn 
To Mitylene, lived there, lone and poor; 
A careworn woman at a cottage door 
Spinning for bread. 

The world was sad to see 
What it had done, then. Men remorsefully 
Remembered, not her many evil deeds. 
But her few good ones. Por who counts the 

weeds 
In any garden where, though desolate, 
One rose remains ? And, much admiring fate 
So bitter borne so blameless of complaint. 
The world, when speaking of her, said, " The 

Saint." 



i6o CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

XII. 

And after all these things, at the late end 
Of a long life, she died. 

XIII. 

Then Priests to send 
Pilgrims to deck her tomb made haste. They 

came 
Barefooted, chanting hymns unto her name, 
And made a noise of praise above her bones. 
Which waked her spirit in the grave. 

XIV. 

Old tones 
Of some glad tune, first heard long years ago. 
When to their music life went gladly too. 
If heard once more when life, after long years, 
Goes not at all, but rests, in him that hears 
Awaken thus the wild unwonted spasm 
Of life's long-buried old enthusiasm. 
Earth under earth, the earthly instinct, raised 
By earthly praises in the corpse thus praised, 
Eeturned to life. 

She rose i' the tomb, and said^ 
" Open ! and let me forth. I am not dead. 
Por men yet praise me, and their praises give 
My joy thereat assurance that I live." 
And the tomb answered, in its own dumb way, 
" I neither know the living, nor obey 
Their voice." 

The pious pilgrims above-gi'ound 
Their rites performed, departing now, — the sound 
Of human praise about that tomb waxed faint, 



IRENE. i6i 

Then silent. 

" Ay," she mused, "a Saint ? .... a Saint 
Should seek, not men, but God." She stood 

before 
The creviced hinge of the tomb's granite door 
And struck it with dead hands, and said again, 
"Door of the Tomb, since I have done with men, 
Show me the way to God." 

The sullen door 
Answered, " I am the Door o' the Tomb. No 

more. 
Find thou the way." 

XV. 

Even then, an awful light. 
Not of this world, through chink and crevice (bright 
With brightness as of burning fire that turns 
Whatever thing the burning of it burns 
Into its sifted elemental worth : 
Substance to spirit, ashes unto earth) 
Smote all the inner darkness where she stood. 

XVI. 

Whereby she saw, outstretched upon the rood. 
The Image of the Christ (by Human Faith 
Placed there in token of life's trust in death), 
And on her soul the sudden memory came 
Like hope . ..." I am The Way ! " 

Who said the same 
Was There i' the Tomb. 

To Whom she, kneeling, said, 
" Teach me, Christ (if I, indeed, be dead), 
The way .... Thou seest . . . ." 

VOL. I. II 



1 62 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

A Voice replied, " To Me, 
Woman, give back mine eyes that I may see ! " 
She dared not answer : dared not gaze upon 
The Face Above. 

XVII. 

That moment's light was gone 
Even as it came. Darkness returned. 

The rest, 
Hid in that darkness, never shall be guessed. 



END OF BOOK III. 



BOOK IV. 



NEOPLATONISM. 



THE SCKOLL AND ITS INTERPRETERS. 



" elnep \6yo? ■n-po(Te\S(ov rfj OArj aoifxa Troiet, ovSaixoOey 
8' av npoa-ekOoL Aoyo?, >j napa )//vx^?." — PlotiNUS, ii. 25. 
— Trepl adavacrCas ^VXV^- 



THE SCROLL AND ITS INTERPEETERS. 



The garden of a villa near Alexandria, overlooking the 
sea. — Noon. — Zozomen, Euphorbos, and Ben Esoch, 
meeting each other. 

ZOZOMEN. 

ELCOME, Euphorbos ! Welcome, learn- 
ed Jew ! 




j EUPHOKBOS and ben enoch. 



Zozomen, hail ! 

ZOZOMEN. 

Here, while we keep in view 
The striving city, we evade the strife 
Which, pleased, we witness. In the webs of life 
Hark to the hum of those unhappy swarms 
That cannot disengage their legs and arms 
From out the meshes, more than flies that sing, 
Caught by the crafty many-handed thing 
That in the unperceived impalpable snare 
Squats, spins, spies, and devours. 



EUPHORBOS. 

Ay, the air 
Of Summer's strongest noon is ever cool 



i66 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Under these myrtle-boughs, — our sylvan school. 
Here breathe we Spring, while, all beneath our gaze, 
The grass burns white against the stubborn blaze, 
And the bruised day on rocky anvils steams. 
Beat by incessant strokes of strong sunbeams. 

ZOZOMEJSr. 

Look yonder, friends, and laugh to see those four 
Brown wretches sweating down the stifled shore, 
To where, between the wharves, the sea-folk swarm 
Round yonder galley ; each with brawny arm 
And straining neck outthrust, on bended back 
Uppropping, as he plods, his heavy pack 
Of party-colored stuff. I oft have stood 
Still by the hour, and in like mirthful mood, 
To watch brown beetles o'er a sandy road 
TJprolling stoutly each his cumbrous load, — 
(White balls of dust, they pack their eggs there- 
in, 
I fancy,) — each with hairy chest and chin 
Smothered and choking 'neath the earthy globe 
It costs so much to stir so feebly. Probe 
The satisfaction which it causes you 
(Standing in midst of their minute ado) 
To watch these creatures toiling, and you '11 find 
It comes not from superior strength of mind 
So much, nor strength of body, as from these 
Converted into consciousness of ease 
By the supreme disdain with which you view 
The thing that tasks the toiling, moiling crew. 
Your nothing done, because of much perceived, 
Is worth more, doubtless, than the much acliieved 
Towards their little seen, by creatures born 



THE SCROLL, 167 

Beneath you, whom benignantly you scorn 
Too much to hurt or help them. 

BEN ENOCH. 

The chief gain 
Of life is, certes, theirs that can abstain, 
And stand apart. Man first grows something, then 
When first he separates himself from men. 
Life's lowest and least choice results we know 
And recognize in what the Many do 
Together : life's augustest grace alone 
Is witnessed in the achievement of the One. 
Bees, emmets, beavers, to each other seem 
As helpful, in their life's collective scheme. 
As men to men. In this alone doth lie 
Man's difference from the beasts : that man saith 

Naming himself, but those " "We " only. 

EUPHORBOS. 

Well, 
The insects yet do yonder slaves excel. 
For they (the insects at their toil) at least 
Toil for themselves, and furnish their own feast. 
But those men toil for others, whom, indeed, 
They know not, or not love. Fagged hands that 

feed 
Mouths not their own. True, Zozomen (alack 
That so it is !), well pleased, the sense comes back 
From chance employment on such dusty scene. 
To find meanwhile, among these branches green. 
His fellow senses, in full ease, supplied 
By cool sounds and sweet smells with all the pride 
Of a most perfect idleness. But see ! 



1 68 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

The white half-moon, by yonder old pine-ti'ee, 
In keener curve of clearer crescent now 
Bites the blue air. Time to begin, I trow ! 
And Enoch brings us treasui*es in his sleeve. 
Is it the scroll, Ben Enoch ? 

BEN ENOCH. 

By your leave. 
My mother's great-great-grandsire, as you know, 
In your renowned Librariura, long ago, 
Had charge of those three chambers, where were 

stored 
The Hebrew and Assyrian rolls. The sword 
Of the first Csesar on this city lay 
Not lightly : but ere Rome's revolted prey, 
Recaptured thus, her wrath was pastured on, 
This great-great-grandsire of my mother, gone 
To Thebes, in search of knowledge, — his life's end, 
Was by an old Egyptian seer, his friend, 
Forewarned of what was doing. Wherefore he 
Returned not, knowing that which was to be. 
And in the farthest East he died at last. 
Leaving this scroll. Which to explain surpassed 
Even his skill, though least among the seers 
He was not. Nathless I, nigh fourscore years 
Searching out truth, have in myself found light 
Whereby to see, and set in all men's sight. 
The meaning of this mystery. It is writ 
All in straight strokes, like thorns. Perusing it, 
I find the sense runs, not alone from left 
To right, but right to left, as in a weft 
Of cross-spun threads, and also vertical : 
The text alliterated, duplex, all 
Instinct with double import ; and the tongue 



TEE SCROLL. 169 

That antique Syrian which survives among 
Some parts of Ezra's scripture, where he cites 
The letter which the Persic king indites. 
Such is the text. Upon the marge thereof 
I find a commentary cramp and tough 
In Hebrew with no vowel points, by a hand 
Unknown, which I surmise Ben Shisliak's. And 
All this I have unriddled, and writ out, — 
The essence of it, not the form, no doubt ; 
For all made up of sounds too volatile 
For transmutation is the antique style : 
.... Even your elastic language locks not these 
In its clear limbec, whence their light troop flees 
In brilliance, bursting swift the brittle bond, 
To fade i' the boundless infinite beyond, 
Dispersed like falling stars. But what I deem — 
Nay hold for certain — the substantial theme 
Of thought that underlies the illusive text, 
Here in my hand I hold, — plain, unperplext. 
Set forth in current Greek. 

EUPHORBOS and zozomen. 

Eead, prithee read, 
Ben Enoch ! 

BEN ENOCH. 

Then, to please you .... Since, indeed, 
I know that, not alone, in earlier age, 
Milesian Thales, and that Samian sage, 
Anaximander, and Parmenides, 
But not long since, Plotinus, and with these 
(Not to name all those Greeks that follow them) 
Latins no few, who, though of Rome, condemn 
No less the dull inapprehensive scorn 



I70 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Of their o'erweening West for Knowledge born 
Beyond the palms, before the pyramids, 
Where Earth's first Morn first oped her ardent lids, 
Were fain to slake their thirst of things divine 
At that same urn whence now I pour this wine 
O' the old bright East 

EUPHOKBOS and zozomen. 

Read, Enoch ! read to us 
The parchment with less preface. 

BEN ENOCH. 

Well then, thus : 

{He reads.) I- 

" In the Beginning, God, the Unbegun, 
(Dread Doer of the Deed that /s never Done !) 
Made Matter : that the glory of his pure 
Perfection, through this element obscure 
Passing, and being thereby, as it were, 
Tempered to what the strength of souls can bear, 
Might make rich coloi's in the lives of men, 
His cared-for, but yet unborn children. 

II. 

" Then 
What he had ma"de God gave unto The Night, 
To keep till he reclaimed it. 

III. 

<'Ear from Light 
Night took, and hid, God's gift. And spread 

thereon 
Her mantle, murmuring, ' Mine ! ' And slept. 



TEE SCROLL. 171 

IV. 

" Anon 
The cons of the Day that hath no rise 
Nor setting in the scope of mortal eyes 
Flowed round about the circle of God's Will, 
I' the orbit of Eternity. 

y. 

" Until 
The "Word, — which is the perfect probola 
Of Power, forth issuing from the depths of Day, 
Summoned The Night to God to render back 
What God had made. 

VI. 

" Under Night's mantle black 
The embryons heard, and shuddered through and 
through. 

VII. 

" Night answered with the everlasting No ' 
Of nothing-knowing Silence. And outspread 
Her sullen solitary wings, and fled 
Farther, and farther from the Light, before 
The Voice of God. 

VIII. 

" In her brute heart she bore 
Nathless, the Word, that cried inexorable, 
' Obey ! ' whereto Night answered mute, ' Compel ! ' 

IX. 

" So that by disobedience she obeyed, 
Not knowing. Unintelligently made 



172 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

By lawless deed the lawful instrument 
Of love she loved not. For where'er she went, 
Deeper and deeper with her went her doom, — 
To bring about God's glory in the gloom : 
Flying with what she fled from unaware, 
Compelled in her ineonscious breast to bear 
The conscious burden of the uttered Word, 
Whose syllables are acts. 

X. 

" Stark Matter stirred. 
Put forth a pining impulse, and 'gan rouse 
Revolt all round its gloomy prison-house, 
Yearning to get back to the hand of Him 
That made it. Fitful in each monstrous limb 
The thick life throbbed, the formidable face 
Twitched, and the enormous frame in heljjless case 
Heaved : for, not dead, but dreaming heavily, 
The giant infant breathed. But blind of eye, 
Callous of ear, Darkness with Silence old 
Crouched by the cradle ; and their dismal hold 
Held fast Night's prey, and theirs. 

XI. 

" To break whose thrall. 
He that is All in One, being One in All, 
Raised up Auxiliar Forces : they that be, 
Since man hath been, dwellers on earth, in sea. 
And in the fire, the air ; though whence of old 
These first had birth not even was it told 
To Moses on the mountain. This alone 
Is certain : not among the Angels known 
Nor Elohim ; but rather of this earth. 
Or elsewhere under Heaven had these their birth." 



THE SCROLL. 173 

(ffe says.) 

Eabbi Ben Shishak thinks, and I with him, 

These should be numbered of those Teraphim, — 

Inferior forces, visible to man. 

Of the Invisible Will, — the Syrian 

Worshipped as gods ; whose images, when she 

With Jacob fled to Gilead, privily 

Kachel from Laban stole. 

{He reads.) ^I^- 

" Then forth, at length, 
To conflict came he that in subtle strength 
Is mightiest of those ministers that serve 
The Maker's Will in Matter. Every nerve 
0' the intense Nature vibrated beneath 
His burning impulse when, as sword from sheath. 
Forth flashed the Spirit of Fire unto his aim ; 
Impetuous, thunder-bolted, fledged with flame. 

XIII. 

" He, that himself is never still, whose pride 
Of prowess is not ever satisfied, 
In his immitigable scorn of rest, 
With searching challenge to swift Change addrcst, 
To do his bidding on the dangerous Deep 
Roused to reluctant motion from dull sleep 
Full many more and mighty ones beside. 
In warfare, waged on Night, with him allied ; 
Whereby Night's realm was shaked and sundered 

through 
With an interminable to and fro. 
For whatsoe'er that Spirit loathes, or loves. 
To seek, or shun, his ardent contact, moves. 



174 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

XIV. 

" To run whose errands then uprose the Wind, 
That sightless seeker of what none shall find, 
And moved on the vext Deep, and strove Avitli 

might 
To rend the vesture vast o' the antique Night. 

XV. 

" Albeit in vain. For everywhere the deep 
Enduring Darkness, — steadfast, even as Sleep 
Is steadfast round about, above, and under 
The tumult of some Dream that cannot sunder 
The slumber it makes terrible, — clung fast. 
And through the hollow dark the whirlwind passed. 
As a thought passes through a soul, — which, go 
Where'er it will, that soul still holds. Even so 
The darkness held the whirlwind. And Night's 

pall 
Floated thereon, forever, over all. 

XVI. 

" Then rolled the Waters ; laboring to the light 
That was not : struck the stubborn sides of Night, 
And grovelled : for the Avilful-hearted world 
Of waters all its frenzied forces hurled. 
To meet but blind bewildering reverse. 
Against the solid of the universe : 
And hung the hissing torrent on the arch 
Of hollows drenched, wherethrough the dismal march 
Of Deluge, bellowing, burst, and, with cold claw 
Of clammy greed, into the hungry maw 
Of monsti'ous movement scraped the confused 
wrecks 



THE SCROLL. 175 

Of broken opposition. But, to vex 
Itself in vain, the purblind element, 
A rude and ravenous monster, came and went ; 
And, mad, with uncongenial substance mixed. 
Disordered worse disorder wild ; unfixed 
The hinges of the gateways of the floods. 
And shifted their far-fleeting solitudes 
Endlessly to no end. 

XVII. 

"For, evermore, 
The enormous Night, still motionless on shore. 
Still moving upon sea, was everywhere : 
Inexorable, ignorant, unaware, 
But mistress still of Matter. 

XVIII. 

"Last, in wrath 
Forth rushed Fire's self upon his reckless path. 
Night's mutilated mantle kindled, shrank. 
Sucked up the seething heat, and rose and sank 
Tormented, yet tenacious. For, where'er 
The scorching Spirit slid through, did Night repair 
With instantaneously returning dark 
Her ravaged shade. As when spark after spark 
Runs over trembling tinder ; which anon 
To every fibre whence the flame hath gone 
Doth — though calcined, yet unconsumed — restore 
The swift-reverting blackness as before. 
But through the havoc and the breach he wrought. 
In rushed the audacious Force, intense as thought. 
Right to the core of what Night strove to hide. 
There — swallowed soon in the abysmal tide 
Of Darkness — caught a prisoner by the thing 



176 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

He came to capture, — made, not Matter's king, 
But Matter's slave, — thereafter, might not he 
From this material aoy more be free. 
Though, discontented, unresigncd to abide 
Fettered in darkness and to cold allied, 
The radiant captive strove, till Night was fain, 
Cramped, and diminished of her dismal reign, 
To camp far off upon the cloudy tract, 
Half conquered, in a sort of sullen pact 
With liffht she loved not." 



{He says.) Xix. 

Thus, the Principle 
Of Fire, materialized, and made to dwell 
Distributed in all things, — being thereby 
In each confounded irrecoverably, 
To all things, interpenetrating each. 
Gave his own leaping life ; that yearns to reach 
Upward and outward. 

{He reads.) ^X. 

" From the depths uprose 
Gaping volcanoes, that with violent throes 
Gasped against heaven. The strong earthquake's 

spasm 
Jarred underneath ; and split from chasm to chasm 
The granite flanks of dizzy hills and isles. 
And promontories rocked on tottering piles. 
About whose base the round sea, rolling, went 
To wrap the world with its blue element. 
Locked in the calm light of the crystal air. 
The buried Force, still seeking everywhere 



THE SCROLL. i-jj 

Fresh forms of freedom in ne^y layers of life, 
Still from each hot and hidden seedling, rife 
With the enraptured consciousness of power, 
Put forth fantastic pomps of plant and flower 
To deck the palace of his new-born world. 

XXI. 

" Then first the centenary jDalm unfurled 

Broad in blue air his emerald diadem. 

And thronged with feathery shafts his quivered stem. 

Then spread the pillared plantain, a dim house 

Of happy leaves, with shadows populous. 

Then first in blaze of bloom the aloe burst 

Bold-faced, and sank, and rose renewed. Then first 

Slant stooped the cedars from their mountain height. 

And over all the lands, in lone delight. 

The forests murmuring to themselves, the seas 

Sounding together, and the melodies 

Of old Earth's morning song made music sweet ; 

Whereto the white stars, dancing with faint feet 

Far off, rejoiced in golden companies. 

XXII. 

" And still, in glad and serious self-surprise. 
The conscious being of the beauteous world, 
With breath on breath, through bloom on bloom, 

unfurled. 
Grew fair, and fairer, gathering grace, from high 
To higher life. 

XXIII. 

" Wings wandered the warm sky. 
The eagle from his mountain pinnacle 

VOL. I. 12 



178 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Faced tl-ie full sun, his neighbor ; proud to dwell 
Alone in light. The brooding yulturc bald 
Peered out of unsunned crags. The curlew called 
Trom breezy bays. Crop-full in marshy haunts 
Stalked the high-shouldered pouch-beaked cormo- 
rants. 
The stilted stork to guard her airy nest 
Stood sentinel. Down flashed with flamy breast 
The red flamingo. Screamed the scornful jay. 
The trotting ostrich scudded swift away. 
Cold-coated wyvcrns flapped with spiky wing 
"Waste fens, in air forlornly wayfaring. 
And merry bills waxed loud in leafy groves. 

XXIV, 

*' The briny sounds began to swarm with droves 
Of silent finny shapes, whose startled eyes 
Peruse the serious deeps in dim surprise. 
The tunny, with his troop of uncouth kin, 
Tumbled all night in moony deeps. The thin 
Plat-fingered starfish on the shelly sand 
Sunned his slow life, or launched him loose from 

land. 
Buoyed on blotched tangles of the salt sea-moss. 
Gray squadrons of adventurous crabs across 
Wind-beaten beaches crawled. V the hollow stone 
The hermit limpet lived his life alone. 
Where blushed the coral branch, with unshut eye 
Xiphias, in silentness, sailed, sworded, by. 

XXV. 

" Nor less the green earth's populace rejoiced, 
Each after his own fashion. The hoarse-voiced 



TEE SCROLL. 179 

Hyena laughed at nothing all night long 

In lonesome lands below the moon : the strong 

Unwieldy unicorns, about the brink 

Of reedy rivers trampling, trooped to drink: 

The jumping jerboa in her wallet warmed 

Her suckling brood with beaded eyes : long-armed 

The lean ape chattered on the branch, and swung : 

Gambolled the frolic squirrel : gayly rung 

With spleenful neighings many a herded lawn 

Of happy grass, where roamed at dewy dawn 

The wanton horses : with embattled mane, 

A citadel of strength, in grave disdain, 

Majestic marched the lion : lissom leapt, 

Or crouched, the wary tiger : cumbrous stept 

The mountainous elephant : on sandy couch 

Supine beneath the palm, with provendered pouch. 

Mused the mild camel at mid-noon. 

XXVI. 

" The things 
That sail on sunny air, with splendid wings. 
Sparkled and hummed : the frugal emmets trooped 
To store their sandy citadel : moles scooped 
Blind chambers in the clod : the scorpion sprawled 
At ease i' the hollow wood : in patience crawled 
The many-colored caterpillars : bees, 
The busy builders, around resinous trees 
Sung ardent in the shade : the sleek, smooth-oiled, 
And silvery-spotted serpent, slumbrous, coiled 
In grassy twine of tangled growths : and swift 
Darted the vivid lizard to her rift. 

XXVII. 

"For swimming thing to creeping thing was 
changed. 



i8o CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

And creeping thing to flying. Life rose, and 

ranged 
Like ripples of running water in the sun, 
Whose mirths are many, but their movement one. 
And every creature, doing what the need 
Of its own nature prompted, -^ in that deed 
Delighting, — did by its particular joy 
Make more the general felicity : 
And, living its own life in great or small, 
Pi'omote, in part, life's purpose, summed in all ; 
As units in a scale of numbers stand 
So placed that each gives out on either hand 
His value to all others." 

(He says.) 

I opine 
The text implies that all which was, in fine, 
On each particular part imperative, 
As Power's tributary, to contrive 
Por contribution to the Life o' the Whole 
(Which, though in many bodies, is one soul), 
Was by the separate will that works alone 
In each part (conscious solely of its own 
Especial want or purpose, whatsoe'er 
That chance to be) accorded, as it were, 
In prosecution of its proper joy, 
Serving itself. Moreover, that the employ 
Of every function requisite thereto 
Was so contrived, in all God's creatures do. 
As that the creature's action should produce 
Pleasure, — the aim and stimulant of Use, 
The motive of Life's movement. You would say 
Life, wanting such things done, devised this way 
Of winning all that lives to serve her end, 



THE SCROLL. i8i 

Serving its own ; — by joy in means that mend 

The salutary sense of some distress, 

Which is dictatress of that happiness 

The creatui'e's faculties were formed to find. 

And therefore man, that is in one combined 

Both animal and intellectual. 

Most specially behooves it that he shall 

Secure the complex happiness of each : 

"Whose business, for this reason, is to teach 

Himself, first to imagine and conceive 

The highest happiness, and next to leave 

To his soul's scoi-n all happiness that seems 

A lesser happiness than that he deems 

The highest : sparing piecemeal to employ 

His faculties on fragmentary joy. 

Since great joy must, greatly to be enjoyed. 

Be nourished upon lesser joys destroyed, 

I also deem they err who hold that Good 

Is Life's aim : rather is it — to my mood — 

Life's aim's benign condition : for Life's aim. 

In fact, is simply Happiness. The same 

Is Good i' the consequence. I say again 

What of Life's end, if all the means were pain ? 

What if rest, sustenance, activity 

Were needful and yet hateful ? if the eye, 

Compelled to see, were scorched by sight ? the ear 

Made sore by sound, though still required to hear ? 

And Life's necessities imposed, in scorn. 

Not love, a curse to sense ? The insect born. 

Even while I speak, where yon stark aloes throv/ 

Their scanty shades, — is born with skill to know 

The food, and wliere to find the food, he needs. 

What if 't were otherwise ? The leaf that feeds 

Might all as well destroy him. It docs not. 



1 82 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Wherefore, perceiving how this Life doth plot 

To bring her ends round, — get herself obeyed, — 

By ministering to all that she hath made 

To be her minister in turn, — what care. 

What shrewdly shaped contrivance everywhere, — 

Seeing, I say, her means all good, I must 

Infer the end good also, — to be just. 

Albeit not failing to observe, in all. 

The means of pleasure made conditional 

To a capacity for pain as well. 

A possible Heaven and a possible Hell 

In the employment of all faculties ; 

Mysterious Ezdads, welcome to the wise. 

Though fearful to the fool. One asks me, Why 

Is Evil everywhere ? and I reply. 

That everywhere there may be growth of Good. 

Would I forego that growth, even if I could "? 

By no means. I resume the text. 

{He reads.-) XXVIII. 

« There were 
Two beings — of the realm that is not air, 
But formed of finer element afar, 
Which floweth round about 'twixt star and star, 
And feeds with heat and light all orbs we view 
Through ether rolling. 

XXIX. 

" Brothers were they, two : 
Loving each other, living in God's love, 
As in them God's love liveth : born above 
Mortality : of burning Essence bright : 
One all pure heat ; the other all pure light : 



THE SCROLL. 183 

Whose nature may be realized by men 
Vaguely — in moments rare — and only then 
When, by the Thinking-power upward brought, 
Or by the Feeling outward, in his thought 
Or his emotion, man approaches close 
To Truth, — knows what he loves, loves what he 
knows. 

XXX. 

" Of this ethereal and seraphic Twain 
The names be Zefyr, Zafyr. . . ." 



(He says.) 

I retain 

The antique nomenclature, as most fit. 
Though, for the meaning, — could one render it 
In the Greek tongue, 't were simpler doubtlessly 
To hellenize what these two names imply 
(If my conjecture be not all at loss), 
Calling them Thermos and Selasphoros. 
He that illumes of him that warms being brother- 
Spirits, — of Wisdom one, of Love the other. 



(He reads.) XXXI. 

" Now Zefyr, looking down the light of God, 
Beheld this earth ; and saw it the abode 
Of beings beauteous, but unconscious yet 
Of beauty : each life limited, and set 
Apart from That which is the Life of AH, 
Shut in itself ; so, fixt fi-om rise or fall 
To its own type of beauty : — there the end 
And boui'ne of all its being. 



i84 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

XXXII. 

" Strong to rend 
And roam, the lion : briglit in bloom, the rose. 
And sweet in odor : where the Avater flows 
Swift slides the fish : the bird in buoyant air 
Springs blithe : each creature, acting unaware 
Of all the beauty in all others, meant, 
Mixt with its own, to perfect the content 
Of the Creator in his creatures all. 

XXXIII. 

" But, what if it wei'e possible to call 

And gather up into some central soul 

(The conscious consummation of the whole) 

All separate strengths and beauties stored in each ? 

Some crowning nature graced with force to reach 

Out of itself on all sides round, — return 

Into itself anon, — and so discern 

Its fit relation to Life's other parts ; 

Whereto, in each. Life tends, wherefrom it starts ; 

The fit relation of all parts to it ; 

And last its own, and their, relation fit 

To the One wherefrom all come, whereto all tend, 

In whom is the beginning and the end 'i 

XXXIV. 

" Could some such soul beget itself, — suppose, — 
The lion's strength, the beauty of the rose, 
The joy that in the sea-born creature swims 
The deep, the bird's delight that soars and skims 
The boundless heavens ; — by power in it, as 

't were, 
To put its proper life forth everywhere 



THE SCROLL. 185 

Beyond itself, and bring it back again 
Triumphant, with a tributary train 
Of other lives, made captive to its own 
By the imagining of what alone 
Sense notices, but knows not 

XXXV. 

" Such a being 
Might be i' the world the Eye of Nature, seeing 
Before and after. Consecrating so 
All creatures in one creature, crowned, below. 
As the world's seer, conspicuous might he stand 
'Twixt Earth and Heaven, upholding in his hand 
The censer of the praise of all, increast 
By his own joy therein : the great High Priest 
Of all God's creatures before God ! 

XXXVI. 

" < 'T were well.' 
So Zefyr deemed. 

XXXVII. 

" Whereat, on him there fell. 
Through all the solemn and symphonious psalm 
Of seraphim that sing 'twixt palm, and palm 
Of Paradise, a sadness, soft, profound. 
As of a silence hid within a sound. 

XXXVIII. 

Zafyr, perceiving that, where'er they went 
Together, Zefyr's brov/ was downward bent, 
Not upward, as of old, in council drew 
His brother forth. 



i86 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

XXXIX. 

" 'T was Avlien the evening dew 
"Was on the silent summer woods, the Star 
Of Even smiling fair, serene, and far 
Over the lone bright lands and Avaters wide 
Of the young world. All-spying, unespied 
Of beast or bird, in midst of bird and beast, 
On a mountain summit in the farthest East 
These Spirits sat in converse. 

XL. 

" Zefyr said 
To Zafyr, answering as the heart to the head 
Makes answer prompt, with no dull need of speech, 
In some full-natured man : 

XLI. 

" 'Look forth ! and reach 
With me, where runs my thought around the rim 
Of this green world, that in the light of him 
That made it, lieth sleeping with shut eye 
And but half-beating heart ; not knowing why 
It is, nor in whose Hand it lieth there. 
How fair to spiritual sight ! so fair 
That we, God's Seraphs, from our sphere descend 
To bathe us in its beauty, and so send 
The fuller strain of a refreshened praise 
To him that made, and grants it to our gaze. 

XLII. 

" < And yet how ignorant ! how blind ! so blind 

Of being, that, — albeit we, that wind 

Where'er the Maker's Will through Matter moves. 



THE SCROLL. 187 

Delight, therewith, to wander these warm groves. 

Or from the meditative mountain-tops 

At morn or even, when the sweet light drops 

Or rises, watch the wondrous going on 

Of God's great work therein, — means hath it none, 

Nor knowledge, nor desire of any Avay 

To speak with us, to answer what we say. 

Rise and respond to that supernal sphere 

Whereto, not knowing this, it lieth so near. 

Of it we know : it knoweth not of us. 

XLIII. 

'' ' What keeps the heauteous exile cancelled thus 
From all communion with the Life that 's whole 
In Spirit only? Surely 't is a soul 
Yet wanting.' 

XLIV. 

" Then, an answer from Above 
Was uttered unto Zefyr : ' Spirit of Love 
That lookest downward, to all souls of mine 
That, looking, loving, downward, — as doth 

thine, — 
Love that which is beneath them, it is given 
To follow where love leadeth ; down from Heaven 
To Earth, from Earth to Hell ; and there, made 

one 
With what they love, to employ their love thereon. 
Living their life therein. That love may so 
Fill all creation, up and down. Whereto 
Is this condition fixt : That, nevermore 
The loftier nature may its life restore. 
Nor place resume, at that Urst point assigned 



i88 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Its process in my purpose, till it find 

Strength in itself to uplift there, — not alone 

Itself, — but, with itself, that lowlier one 

Whereto its love allies it. If in this 

It triumph, then the sphere it soars to is 

Diviner, loftier, lovelier than before ; 

Enlarged by life, not single any more, 

But twofold. Eor, what strength the spirit needs 

To painfully recover, by slow deeds 

Accumulated from the clutch of Time 

And Circumstance, in action, that sublime 

First starting-point of Love's self-sought career, 

Impels its upward impulse to a sphere 

Superior even to that which, in descent, 

It for Love's sake surrendered. In the event 

Such spirits, my participators, win 

At the Right Hand of Greatness, highest within 

High Heaven's secret sanctuaiy, a throne 

Reserved for those Experiences alone 

That have advanced my purpose : which doth move 

Not only to create, but to improve 

Life in the highest and lowest, — life in all : 

Whereof the progress is perpetual. 

But if the lord o' the loftier sphere do fail, 

Bound to base engines, upward to prevail 

With the low consort of his choice, twofold 

Shall be his failure ; failing to uphold 

Himself where first he 'lighted from above, 

And failing to uplift what he doth love ; 

And they shall sink together. And, because 

What Is is infinite, all power, that draws 

Upward or downward, urges up or down 

Whate'er it meets with and can make its own. 

Forever and forever.' 



THE SCROLL. 189 

XLV. 

" Zefyr heard, 
Glowing : and answered, ' Good, O Lord, thy word 
To him that hears it, ever ! Let mine be 
The task wdth Matter to return to thee.' 

XLVI. 

" But Zafyr cried : ' O Brother, go not thou ! 

What of the load laid on thee canst thou know 1 

Or of thy power to lift it from beneath ? 

Behold ! it lieth, sleeping in the breath 

Of its own beauty, as thyself hast said. 

This world, whose blind brute heart-without-a-head 

Dreameth not aught between itself and God. 

Once wake it, — make it 'ware that in the sod, 

Now smiling all unconscious, stirs a soul. 

And win not Matter mnrtherously dole 

To such a troublous tenant, — if not death, — 

Pain, dreadfully prolonged on every breath 

That troubles Matter? What Earth's dwellers be 

Is best unbettered. Bid such beings see 

A life above them, better than their own, — 

A constantly receding splendor shown 

Never to be secured, — a point i' the play 

Of power, perpetually drawn away, 

Albeit perpetually present still 

To life's unsatisfied pursuit, — how ill 

Even to themselves must all they be and do 

Then seem, confronted with the maddening view 

Of such a prospect, endlessly at hand. 

Endlessly distant. What contrivance, planned 

For pain, more potent than such gift, Avhereby 

The Better seen must needs incessantly 

Condemn the Good possessed ? ' 



190 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

XLVII. 

" Zefyr, meanwhile, 
Saw, watching Avistful with a serious smile, 
Among her lucid orbs, the pallid Night 
Returning softly, in sad peace with light. 
Over the waters to the west ; and said : — 

XLVIII. 

" ' Lo, everywhere, though pent and prostrated, 

How Fire, forerunner of the force in me, 

Hath vindicated in his own degree 

A noble nature in base circumstance ; 

Whose very pain doth yet his power enhance ! 

What was this world, ere in it wakened those 

Stupendous pangs, those passionate birth-throes 

Of Beauty, the predestined fruit of Power ? 

Even to make possible yon beil-prankt flower 

That trembles sweet i' the solitary air. 

What earthquakes quickened, what mad mountains 

were 
Cast up, crusht down : of whose so difficult 
And dismal labor, lo, the last result, — 
A little flower that knows not its own worth ! 
Ay, but the floAver's mere beauty wins to earth 
A Seraph. What, now, if that Seraph's heart. 
Hid in this world, had place to play its part, 
Express its passion, vent its vehemence ? 
What — of a nature nobler, more intense. 
More beautiful, more complex, more complete — 
Might rise therefrom the gaze of God to greet ? 
Perchance, some lovelier flower, of statelier life, 
Sprung, not from Matter's toil, but Spirit's strife, 
Might, breathing beauty from its native sod. 



THE SCROLL. 191 

Win down to earth, — no seraph, but a god ! 
Beloved, I descend. I shall return/ 



XLIX. 

" ' When ? ' 

" ' When God wills. I know not. I shall 
learn.' 
" ' Too late, perchance. Thou gocst alone 1 ' 

" ' Not lonely. 
Strong helpmates have I with me.' 

" < Whom 1 ' 

L. 

" ' Two only : 
Eaith-in-the-Future, Memory-of-the-Past. 
And, doubt not, these Two shall beget me fast 
New families of Spirits, born to know 
(God granting) whence I am, whither I go : 
Poets, and Martyrs. But, since I must needs 
Pass lone from where thy placid Essence feeds 
Its intellectual life, to lower forms, 
Thee, Brother, thee, — though housed in dust, with 

worms. 
Still let me feel not far, — where'er perchance. 
Cramped in cold clasp of clay-born Circumstance, 
I, from my new probationary toil, 
Look upward with the love earth cannot soil ; — 
Still as of old, dear Spirit, in our august 
And grand communion, lifting, though from dust. 
Looks that in thine the love that lights them now 
Shall find unchanged ! And, if God's grace allow 
This long-pent passion to attain in time 
Some eminence of Nature, more sublime 
Than Earth yet holds, — there, Spirit, if that may 

be. 



19^ 



CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 



Stoop tliou to meet me, wlio shall rise to thee, 
Nor wholly miss thee, where I soon must live, 
r the mj^riad moulds God doth to Matter give. 
Wherein life beats : therewith my course pursue, 
Trusting to feeble faculties : renew 
TuU many times a patient purpose oft 
Frustrate : and labor to the light aloft 
By many darkling, many devious ways : 
And breathe, perchance in pain, vext hymns of 

praise 
Through harshest instruments. Thou, therefore, be 
Wherever I at length may lift to thee. 
In some yet unborn being, eye or ear 
Appealing for communion. I shall hear 
Thy voice, and see the beauty of thy face, 
And comfort me. Thereby shall some new Eace 
Take note that Heaven is glad of Earth's endeavor, 
And Spirit doth to Spirit answer ever ! ' 

LI. 

"And Zafyr, sorrowing : < Wheresoe'er thou art. 
Trust me, my being must with thine take part. 
Dear Spirit, with thine my hope, with thine my will ! 
And Zafyr shall to Zefyr answer still. 
Prompt as of old, and clear as chord to chord 
Of Heaven's mid-music, if new forms afford 
To ancient forces their familiar play 
Of interchange. Love's mandate to obey.' 

Lll. 

" Then Zafyr's kiss through Zefyr's being stole 
Burningly. And behold ! a living soul 
In Matter " . . . . 



THE SCROLL. 



193 



(^He says.) 

Something from the text is lost. 
Which to recover the vain hope hath cost 
To me much labor, long research, and some 
Discomfiture ; for not the palindrome 
Nor yet the comment, after or before, 
Aids my distressed conjecture to restore 
The perisht page I still am searching for. 

(jETe reads.) 

....*' Night answered to her august visitor : 

' Spirit, my consciousness is made confused 

By cross experience, and a sense, unused, 

Of wants, to me not welcome. This I know : 

That all things serve The All — I, even as thou. 

Spirit, I know that Matter is his child. 

But Matter's nurse am I. For thus he Avilled. 

And me the infant knows and answers .... 

see ! ... . 
Not knowing yet its Eather. If to thee 
'T will answer, — try ! I know not. Yet I know 
Many, and mighty ones, have been ere thou : 
Who came to mock, and still remain to mourn.' " - 

(He says.) * 

Here also is the cryptic writing tora 

To my much sorrow. It continues thus. 

'* After that time the Earth waxed populous 
With pageantries of prouder life, improved 
By wider play of worthier power : which moved 
Majestic in the forward march of Fate, 
Through statelier periods of more intricate 
Contrivance, with superior pomp. Erect 
VOL. I. 13 



194 



CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 



Of stature, and serene of intellect, 

The august procession to a gloiiious goal 

Rose, and confronting Heaven with human soul, 

Matter, self-conscious, to emerge began 

Forth from the merely mammal into Man. 

LIU. 

« Thus, at the last, appeai'ed Humanity. 
Whereto was given the hand of a man, thereby 
To imitate the thought of an angel : fit 
And supple slave o' the spirit that doth sit 
Within it, ruling it : made lord and king 
Of all Earth's tribes, that to the governing 
Of man were given ; since, in man's nature, theirs 
Is gathered up, and given forth. 

LIV. 

" Vast stairs 
Of various range, ascending to some shrine 
Wherein a God is worshipt, so combine 
With the whole fabric's purpose. 

From below, 
Who sees, up their thick-trodden labyrinth, go, 
Pushing or pusht, the multitudes betwixt, 
The statues and the symbols each side fixt, 
Perceives not more in those thronged temple stairs 
Than that each, graced with its own sculpture, 

bears 
In its own beauty its own import plain. 
But he that, mounting up them, doth attain 
The godlike Image on the glorious height. 
Where all parts of the Maker's plan unite 
Their several uses, must perceive anon 
The Temple and the Temple-stairs be one." 



THE SCROLL. 195 

{He says.) 

Friends, 'tis well known to you, what from of old 

Our Rabbins held, as still our Rabbins hold, 

That, even as in Noe's ark combined 

Lived, not alone the whole of human kind, 

But also all the creatures that God chose 

For patterns and progenitors of those 

Which should be after, when he loosed the flood ; 

So also lived in Adam's life the brood, 

Not only of all generations then 

Yet unborn, and all families of men, 

But also all the lower lives of earth, 

All creatures whose creation by man's birth 

Was bound together, and in contact brought 

With Spirit by the motions of man's thought. 

Since man's thought lends a soul to everything 

That man's thought lives in. Therefore is he king 

Of all the creatures. 

{He reads.) LV. 

'< Thus man's consciousness 
Was troubled by the sense of More and Less. 
And, even as one that bears a dubious name, 
Born of high lineage, yet the child of shame. 
Sprung from a monarch's loins, albeit the fruit 
Of a slave's womb ; so, kindred to the brute. 
Yet conscious of an angel ancestry, 
Man walked his vassal world with restless eye, 
Now turned impatient, or in proud self-scorn, 
On his low native dust, now raised forlorn 
In vext desire to his high native skies. 

LVI. 

" Now, therefore, Zefyr, gazing through man's eyes, 



196 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Sought his kin Seraph : from whose bright embrace 
Was born a nobler and a mightier Race — 
Mightier than man's, which man himself obeys — 
Of beings for whose service in all ways, 
And sustenance, man's race was made. 

LVII. 

" For these. 
Which are man's lords, using man's life to please 
Their pui-pose, as man uses, to his own, 
Earth's lower lives, whereof dominion 
To him in turn is given, are, indeed. 
Scarce bound'to Matter by mere bodily need, 
As man is ; but have power upon man's mind 
To make it ply whatever task they find 
Tit for their purpose ; mastering Man, as he. 
For their sakes, masters Matter. 

LVIII. 

" These, then, be 
The world's essential substances. To whom 
Man's Hfe is, from its cradle to its tomb. 
Subordinated ; unto whom man gives 
The best part of his being : whom he lives 
To serve, and perishes to please." 

(He says.) 

Thus far 
The text. The comment here .... 

(He reads.) 

"For men's lives arc 
To these as sustenance. Mark how, of old, 
Men held what I, alone of moderns, hold," 



THE SCROLL. 197 

{Says.) 

Ben Shishak's known philosophy in this 

I recognize, and know the gloss for his. 

{Reads.) 

" Namely : that this thrice-complicated world. 

Whereof man stands i' the centre, holds enfurled. 

And superposed as 't were, three orbs distinct 

Of Life. Each diverse, though together linkt 

By Life's one law for whatsoever lives. 

Whereby of each Earth gains, to each Earth gives. 

What helps in turn, the End-all, and the Be-all : 

One Animal : one Human : one Ideal : 

Three circles of one sphere. Of these, the least 

And lowest, is the kingdom of the beast. 

Which man commands : who holds the middle place 

Between Earth's lowest, and her highest, race. 

But that which is the loftiest of the Three, 

Sole region of Ideas, I take to be : 

Which man, in truth, subserveth and obeyeth, 

As him the brute beneath him. Whoso sayeth 

A man's ideas to a man belong, 

Knoweth not what he saith, or argueth wrong. 

Far rather, I imagine, doth the Man 

Belong to the Idea. For neither can 

The Man command the Idea, nor deny 

Submission to its mandate. Can he fly 

From its pursuing 1 or its path dictate ? 

Or summons, or dismiss, or bid it wait. 

Or hasten, — here advance, and there stand still, — 

Now active be, now passive — at his will ? 

And, if it live not servile to his whim. 

Say, can he slay it 1 Doth it not slay him, 

Inexorably, with no mercy shown. 



198 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

As he would slay a beast that is his own, 
If his death, rather than his life, promote 
That end whereto the Idea doth devote 
The Man it uses 1 All as well my mule, 
Whose footsteps I by staff and bridle rule, 
Might think he rules me, — goeth by the road 
His choice, not mine, selects, nor own the goad, 
As that, for my part, I should boast to be 
The lord of that ideal lord of me 
Whose force I follow, and whose burden bear, 
Not as I will, but as I must, where'er 
He goads me. And, if this brute mule of mine 
Should lord it o'er his fellow mules, — opine 
Himself the sage whose way is Wisdom's track. 
Because he bears 7ny wisdom on his back, 
Were not his folly all the worse 1 ' What then,' 
One asketli, < arguest thou, apart from men. 
Ideas can exist ? doth not man's mind 
Create the Ideal 1 ' Nay, friend, for I find 
Ideas make men, not men ideas. They 
The dwellers of the ideal world, I say. 
Are independent of mankind so much 
As man is of the brutes. No more. For such 
As is mankind's requirement of a race 
Beneath it, born to serve it, — in like case 

Is man O, not by any means the lord, 

But sturdy servitor, of that dim horde 
Of dwellers on his brain ; which, truly, need 
And freely use, — to bear them, or to feed, — 
For pasture, or for burden, as may be — 
Man, for their sakes created. Nathless he 
Doth commonly consider and declare 
That he is Something Great, because aAvare 
Of Something Great within him. In like way 



THE SCROLL. 199 

I dreamed the dial to the beam did say, 

' Lo, I am Time ! ' A little wind was waked, 

Across the sun a little cloudlet shaked, 

And the vain index of the heedless hour 

Relapsed to nothingness. In many a flower 

The moth and grub their dubious egglets hide. 

Can the flower choose, or doth the flower decide 

What to the summons of the sun shall rise 

From her chance treasures to amaze men's eyes ? 

This launches, sapphrine-mantled, mailed with gold. 

Some warlike wyvern beautiful and bold, 

Fit for the Persic fay that rides to woo 

His shy queen, gayly, in her globe of dew : 

That sends forth, barely fit to browse on burs, 

A monster hateful as the imp that spurs 

His sooty flank, and hums a hell-born hymn, 

Forth venturing darkly when the air is dim. 

I can but laugh, not seldom, in my sleeve, 

When I look round the world, and there perceive 

How men have builded monuments of brass 

To others on whose brains the whim it was 

Of some Idea, on its sightless way 

About the world, to settle, seize, and prey. 

Why should the beasts, man scorns, not also raise. 

After their fashion, some such baaing praise 

About the sure-foot horse man drives, the ox 

He ploughs with, or the fatlings of the flocks 

Man kills for his best banquet ? Now, I deem 

That in the purpose of the One Supreme 

Man is not, as he holds himself to be, 

The highest necessity on Earth. But he. 

Born for the service of Ideas alone, 

Is for their sake, as they are for their own. 

Notice, which most concerns, most occupies. 



200 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

That Providence whereby man lives and dies : 

Men or Ideas ? An Idea hath need 

Of growth, — full scope to satisfy its greed 

Of power, and multiply, and propagate. 

To meet which, man is there i' the mass. Now 

wait. 
What happens 1 mark the issue. Men must perish 
Wholesale, it may be, or piecemeal, to cherish, 
Enrich, and ratify the otherwise 
Starved and pent life this one Idea tries 
To nourish at men's cost ; itself or these 
Succumbing. Which doth the World's Euler 

please 
To rescue or confirm ? Why, horde on horde 
Nature, to serve her supernatural lord, 
Of her selectest human children gives 
Little accounts she their mere deaths or lives ! 
'T is but a race to ravage, but a realm 
To wash away in blood, expunge, o'erwhclm. 
Doth Nature shrink from, — Providence impeach, — 
The sacrifice required ? Men's bodies bleach 
On bloody battle-fields uncounted. Men 
Born to be used thus : ended there and then, 
Their use being over. Dead and done with, they ! 
Yet not in vain, do after-comers say, 
Lived they or died they, since their lives and 

deaths 
(Else vainly born and buried in vain breaths) 
Have served to manifest, make eminent 
The Idea for which they lived and died, content. 
But to themselves, who doubts these men's lives 

seemed 
Of all-surpassing value ? Each was deemed 
By the dead owner of it something worth 



THE SCROLL. 201 

The special cherishing of Mother Earth. 
And if to save and foster man's life were 
Earth's, or Earth's Arch Disposer's chiefest care 
We must, for those men's sakes (whose life, poured 

forth 
Like water, seems mere waste of what was worth 
Such frustrate forethrift, care so balked of gain, 
In the fine fashioning of nerve and brain), 
Attribute faihire vast, or drear neglect. 
To Earth's great Justicer and Architect. 
But He — that wrecks man's life i' the sharp or- 
deal 
Which rescues life's pure essence from the unreal, 
The false, the fleeting — heeds not how it fare 
With the mere Human, born for death : whose 

care 
Is for the Ideal that doth never die. 
The human swarm swims, in its season, bj : 
Races on races rise and roll away : 
The generations flourish and decay. 
What laughing Phantom leads, and mocks, the 

dance 
Of these blind mummers through the Masque of 

Chance ? 
Lives on the life that from their lips it drains, 
More glorious waxes as their glory wanes. 
Brightens its deathless eyes in that fine air 
Whose ardent essence man's prolonged despair 
Eeeds with the fires that waste it, and doth dwell 
On dead men's graves, deathless, impalpable. 
Made of immortal element, the pure 
Result of man, — man's life that doth endure - 
Above the dust man drops in ? What survives 
Save this, the ceaseless dying of men's lives ? 



202 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Egypt and all her castes, — bold Babylon, 

Beautiful Hellas, — Rome's Republic, — gone ! 

What rests, ort earth, the lone result of these 7 

The airy, but immutable, images 

Of their Ideals, in the life that lies, 

To light our own, above us. Starrier eyes 

Than ours are on us. Egypt's Thought, the Grace 

Of Hellas, — now no more to render place 

To Rome's strong Will, — the stout town-stealer. 

.... There 
Behold man's bright pall-bearers, — they that bear 
On their calm brows, for costliest coronal. 
The symbols of the summed-up ages all. 
Much musing on these things, I doubt not, then. 
Ideas are of more account than Men 
In that grand purpose which to further here 
Each of Earth's tribes was, in its several sphere. 
Created." 

(fl'e says.) 

Here the text, whereto I turn 
Again, grows dubious, dark. Let him discern, 
That can, its meaning! 

(Reads.) LIX. 

" Thus Ideas grew 
With human growth. Thus heavenly heralds blew 
The trumpet of the triumph of the Earth. 
Eor Eire, at first, with Matter mixt, gave birth 
To breathing Life in beauteous flesh and blood. 
Wherefrom anon (by its blind beauty wooed 
With clay to keep celestial company) 
The Angelic Essence wi'ought, and raised on high 
Man, Earth's immediate monarch. Thence, through 
man, 



THE SCROLL. 



203 



Soon as the Earth-Spirit to commune began 

"With his unearthly kindred (lest forlorn 

Of Heavenly love should be Earth's life) was born 

The race of Earth's Ideal denizens, 

Monarchs of men, whose life is more than men's. 

Then, last of all, through these, — as, first of all, 

Through Man, was Matter in the Animal 

Made 'ware of Spirit, — did man's self (the abode 

Of Spirit) Avax in the Spirit aware of God. 

LX. 

" And man, scarce started on his glorious race, 
Seemed nigh to touch the goal, when .... What 

strange face 
Of deathful beauty, with disastrous eyes, — 
The Avanton nurse of woful destinies, 
Rose on the road before him, unforetold, 
To flatter to his fall him overbold 
In passion, — him by fairest form beguiled 
To foulest woi'ship ? "What portentous child. 
From the accurst incongruous union bred. 
Of what Ideal to what Bestial wed. 
Arrests man's course yet ? Eor behold it there 
In the world's midst, arisen at unaware. 
With its brute body and its brow divine, — 
Man's curse, — the Ever-fatal Feminine ! 
The beautiful abominable one, 
The watcher on the threshold, in the sun, 
The lion-woman with the 'luring eye. 
The inhuman riddle of humanity. 
The weakness that is more than strength, the beast 
That hath the brows of Power, and the breast 
Of Beauty, and the body of Disgrace, 
The Eternal Discord, with the dubious face ! 



204 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

LXI. 

"Not causeless came the Curse of Sense. Tor 

when 
The ideal world was felt i' the world of men, 
Erom its strong action this re-action rose 
(As first, most fruitful, offspring of the throes 
Of Spirit in Matter made parturient), 
The consciousness of Beauty. Ill content 
With merely being, man aspired to make 
Man's being beautiful ; and, for the sake 
Of beauty, with unbeauteous circumstance 
Contended. But, incompetent to advance 
Except by sensuous aids, he halted there 
Where his five guides, the Senses, cried, ' We fare 
No farther.' There, soon satisfied to rest 
With these, he built him temples, altars drest. 
And statues shaped, and incense burned .... 

and lo. 
From out the incense fumes, with eyes aglow 
To catch him, rose that Curse ! Whereat . . . ." 

(He says.) LXII. 

O friends, 
Suddenly, sadly, here the writing ends. — 
Or rather, not the writing, as first writ 
By him, whoe'er he was, that fashioned it 
Of old, — but all, alas ! that time and fate 
Have spared of this torn scroll ; at what sad date 
Thus mutilated, I divine not. Long 
Hath been ray labor to repair the wrong 
By some rash hand, to me unknown, done here. 
And all in vain ! though many a weary year 
My wandering search hath been most diligent. 



THE SCROLL, 



205 



Byzantium, Athens, Rome, — where'er I went, — 

Thebes, and the ruined cities in the sand, 

And whcresoe'er report from land to land 

Denoted any learned Greek or Jew, 

Studious to store all crumbs of knowledge, who 

Might haply help me .... nowhere have I found 

The missing text. So that on broken ground 

I seem to stand, as one that, with full heart 

And lightly bounding step, erewhile 'gan start 

Bold on his journey to some far-off spot 

Reached only by untrodden ways, — some grot 

Hewn high up in a mountain land, — the occult 

Abode of that rare sage, whom to consult 

On things of weight the man sets forth in scorn 

Of peril by the way ; and finds, though torn 

To bleeding, hand and foot, by stone and bi-ier. 

The secret clew ; and, taking heart, yet higher 

And higher, clambers on 'twixt flint and stub, 

Escapes the wild beast's paw, the robber's club, 

(For bandit hordes infest the rocky height. 

And from the thickets wild beasts roam by night,) 

But night and day he, chanting hymns, fares on, 

Surer and surer of the road. Anon, 

Some dawn, at sunrise, hath he reached the peak 

Where dwelt the sage he fared so far to seek, 

And lo ! the hermit strangled at the door 

Of his own cave. That man shall nevermore 

Have his doubts answered. No result remains. 

But pure conjecture, after all my pains. 

Much hath been saved, though much is lost ; and 

more 
Even than enough to make me much deplore 
That so much saved, because of so much lost. 
Should leave so unrequited care that cost 



ao6 CHRONICLES AND CEARACTERS. 

Such time and toil to save it. Question vain ! 
Shall Zefyr, helped of Zafyr, yet regain 
His native element original 1 
How shall it fare with man 1 What end of all 
That Spirit's incarnation 1 Tell me you, 
Whom well I deem this city's wisest two, 
What think you is the import of the words 
Where my conjecture halts^ 

ZOZOMEN. 

What 's saved affords 
No indication of what 's lost. Divine 
Who may what means that <' Fatal Feminine," 
I cannot. And methinks no such strange phrase 
Was needed to imply, what none gainsays, 
That woman, ever since the world began. 
Hath been a beauteous mischief unto man. 

BEN ENOCH. 

No. I dismiss that meaning. 



What other ? 



EUPHORBOS. 



BEN ENOCH. 



And elect 



One, which doth, indeed, deject 
And sorrow me most sorely. For I see 
That man, being twofold, body and soul, must be 
Against himself divided evermore ; 
Never at unison Avith life ; so sore 
The strife is 'twixt the body and soul. In just 
So much as, discontented with mere dust, 



THE SCROLL. 207 

Which is its native, natural element, 
The body, prompted by the spirit pent 
"Within it (which — a prisoner — doth conspire 
Against its hapless jailer), may desire 
To pacify the querulous spirit, and do 
Its mandates, run its errands to and fro. 
In search of joys not for the body meant, 
The soon-tired body's certain discontent 
Dismays the spirit. And man fails that way. 
Whilst, in so much as, willing to obey 
The bidding of the body, heard in turn, 
And humor thus the helpmate it would spuru 
But cannot, the compliant spiirit spares, 
To deck the burden its associate bears, 
Some casual grace, some flying flavor lends 
To spice the joys whereon the body spends 
Its fleshly appetite, — the spirit's soon 
Enkindled scorn of its own wasted boon. 
And prompt disgust of what it deigned to do, 
Dismays the body. Man fails this way, too. 
But, say the spirit triumphs. And what then ? 
Death. For it kills the body. Or, again, 
Suppose the body triumphs ? Again, death. 
It kills the spirit. Whilst, with hindered breath, 
The two conspire each other's failure, life 
Endures, indeed : but how endures ? At strife. 
But in this scroll a hope, methinks, — nay, more, 
A promise, seemed vouchsafed. What I deplore 
Is that, enough remaining of the scroll 
To testify that, could we read the whole, 
Fulfilment of that promise would be shown, 
The missing end, which cannot now be known, 
Leaves, by extinguisht founts, desire awaked 
To fiercer thirst, with all that thirst unslaked. 



2o8 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

So bright the opening promise ! But just here, 
Here where both text and comment disappear 
In a great gap of doubt, .... man's prosperous 

march 
Seems stopped by Sense, just where through 

Time's near arch 
First gleams the Spirit's glorious goal. As when 
That Carthaginian host, with Rome in ken, 
At Capua caught, forewent the long-wisht end 
Deserved by toil thus far endured, to spend 
On pleasure premature, upon its way. 
Forces first armed to seize a nobler prey. 
The conquered, thus, the conquerors captive take. 
Thus would-be C^sars turn, with worlds at stake, 
By captive Cleopatras captured fast. 
Let worlds escape them, and are lost at last 
Thus, the Ideal Beauty, oy the sense 
Itself hath kindled into veliemence 
O'ertaken, is in sensuous fetters fastened : 
Thus man's defeat his first success hath hastened : 
Thus, the old question vain returns again ; 
And, just where all seemed gained, all 's lost for men. 
Which things perplex me. 

EUPHORBUS. 

Hush ! we are o'erheard. 
Who is yon stranger ? 

ZOZOMEN. 

Not a leaflet stirred 
Among the myrtles : on the path no stone 
Cried out : and through the gates not any one 
Can passed unchallenged. How, then^ came he 
here ? 



THE SCROLL. 209 



BEN ENOCH. 

A man of most strange aspect. 



EUPHORBOS. 

He draws near. 

ZOZOMEN. 

Mark him ! 

THE STRANGER {approaching). 

Peace be unto you, brethren. Much 
I marvel, O Ben Enoch, that on such 
A mind as thine, inquisitive of all 
Light's rays, such mere interposition small 
Should cast such shaafc»w. A man's hand, no 

doubt. 
Is not so small but what it can shut out 
God's sun, if only through a single hole 
The sunlight enters. But to thee the whole 
O' the world is opened. Seest thou not, although 
The conquered do the conquerors conquer, slow 
But sure from out such conquest comes a new 
And nobler triumph born of both ? Thou, Jew, 
Were not the Roman master (as he is) 
Of all thy race, how should thine master his 
By knowledge, veiled from Lars and Lucuraon, 
Yet viewed by Israel ere the Roman won 
A rood of barren earth for that first plough 
Beneath whose yoke the world's self labors now ? 
The Ideal thus, though by the Sensuous held 
In bondage for a while, doth work and weld 
All to itself, till form be filled with soul. 
And, if indeed the story of thy scroll 

VOL. I. 14 



2IO CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Holds ancient warrant, as thou dost believe, 
Deem'st thou the toil of Matter could so grieve 
A Spirit's nature as therefrom to get 
Most pitiful participation, yet 
The toil of Spirit — stronger far than this, 
And nobler much — receive of him, that is 
Father of Spirits, no assistance meet, 
Even from the fugitive semblance of defeat 
Securing future triumph ? . . . . triumph missed 
By man in Adam, won for man in Christ ! 
Which, though, indeed, for all achieved by one. 
Must yet again by each be made his own. 
In his own fashion, after his own kind. 
Ere all possess the gain of each combined. 
Meanwhile, one man's life marks where life may 

reach. 
One ripple only touching on the beach, 
Thou say'st, " The whole sea spreads thus far." 

But one 
Of the chain's many links holds fast the stone 
The mason's engine lifts : yet say'st thou not, 
" The whole chain's motion moves the stone 1 " 

I wot 
Thou hast much to learn, Ben Enoch. 

[He passes. 

EUPHORBOS (a/?e?' a pause). 

Come and gone 
Incredibly ! and with announcement none, 
More than the sudden shadow on the grass 
Of a cloud passing. 



Too lightly. 



ZOZOMEN. 

Thou didst let him pass 



THE SCROLL. an 



BEN ENOCH. 

There was that upon my mind, 
Whilst yet his eye was on me, I could find 
No answer to his speech. 

ZOZOMEN. 

Nor I. 

EUPHOEBOS. 

Didst scan 
His face ? 

BEN ENOCH. 

I think it was no living man. 
I think it was Elias. 

EUPHOEBOS. 

Could he speak 
Our language, Jew ? For this man's speech was 
Greek. 

ZOZOMEN. 

What if it were — once more vouchsafed to us — 
He of Tyana, that taught Ephesus 
Things inconceivable .... since of his death 
No man is certain ? 

EUPHOEBOS. 

Such-like rumor saith 
The same of Heavenly John, whom Christus told 
How God to him had granted to behold. 
Whilst yet on Earth, the coming of the Day 



212 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Of Renovation. For that man, some say, 
Is yet among us : and at sundry times, 
Of sundry folk, in many different climes, 
Hath certainly been seen. And whensoe'er 
The man hath shown himself at unaware. 
Great things have happened. Him I think it was 
That hath been with us, and is gone. Because 
Did he not name the man, or god, whom we 
From some of the new Jews have heard to be 
The founder of their sect, — bowing his head 
The while he spake ? Moreover it doth spread. 
This sect, already, even amongst ourselves 
"Who walk with Plato : even on mine own shelves 
I keep a book — 't is barbarous Greek, indeed — 
About that self-same Christus and his creed, 
Ascribed to this same John 

BEN ENOCH and ZOZOMEN. 

We '11 follow him. 
Went he this way ? 

EUPHORBOS. 

No. Where the air is dim 
Deep in yon tamarisk thicket. 

BEN ENOCH. 

Would I knew 
What he would have us think he knows ! 

ZOZOMEN. 

I too. 

EUPHORBOS. 

Hark ! 



THE SCROLL. 

A DISTANT VOICE. 

Kdi to pneuma Jcai he nymphe 

EUPHOEBOS. 



213 



There ! 



THE VOICE. 



Legousin Elihe 



Is dim 



Elthe! 



ZOZOMEN. 

Yonder ! where the air 

THE VOICE. 

Kai ho aJcouon eipato 

ETJPHORBOS. 



That voice again ! in tones, as though 
The man's hand beckoned while his mystic hymn 
To us he chants. 

BEN ENOCH. 

Shall we not follow hiifl 1 



Most certainly. 



OMNES. 



ZOZOMEN. 



But if it be, indeed. 
Only a phantom which the air doth breed 
Not seldom, near the setting of the sun, 



214 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Out of the womb of EA^e, — an eidolon 
That hath no substance save what it hath power 
To suck from mortal sense at this dim hour 
.Which ushers in the night, .... all search were 
vain. 

EUPHORBOS. 

And I am bidden .... 

THE VOICE. 

Elthe ! 



BEN ENOCH. 



EUPHORBOS. 



Hark, again 



I cannot. Follow, you. I cannot. I 

Am bidden to the great festivity 

"Which What's-his-namc, — the new-made Consul's 

choice, — 
This veiy night .... 

THE VOICE. 

Elthe! 



BEN ENOCH. 



ZOZOMEN. 



Again that voice 



By Bacchus ! I too must away. To-night 
Myself am one of those his friends invite 
To hear our bran-new poet, Proteus, read 
His bran-new Epic .... 



THE SCROLL. 215 

BEN ENOCH. 

And for me, indeed, 
Philemon, the Libi*arian, waits by this, 
To overlook that learned work of his 
Which crowns the labors of Ben Shittag, who 
Reformed erewhile the Kabala, — a Jew 
Whom the Greek justly honors. Yet 't is sad. 
I would have followed. 



The time 



EUPHORBOS. 




I too, 


if I had 


ZOZOMEN. 




And! 




BEN ENOCH. 




But weightier matters . 



EUPHORBOS. 

Tlien 
Farewell, Ben Enoch. Farewell, Zozomen. 

ZOZOMEN. 

Farewell, Euphorbos. Farewell, worthy Jew. 

BEN ENOCH. 

And, gentle friends, a like farewell to you. 

[They disperse. 

TIME {passing in the silence). 
Go, fools ! It tasks a century's search to espy 
VYhat oft a moment drops in passing by. 

END OF BOOK IV. 



BOOK V. 

MAHOMED AN ERA. 

LEGENDS AND KOMANCES. 

" We jouijiey in the path of Parivaha." — Sakoontala. 



MOHAMMED * 




OHAMMED THE DIVINE, ere yet 
his name 
Blazed in the front of everlasting fame, 
Withdrew into the Desert, and abode 
Hard by Mount Hara, long alone with God. 

But from the solitude his soul swept forth 

And viewed the world, — east, )vest, and south, and 

north : 
Weakness v/ithout, and wickedness within : 
And how the people murmured, as in Zin, 
Yet lacked the heavenly food ; how, on each side, 
The Roman, and the Persian, in their pride, 
Were perishing from empire ; how the Jew 
Defamed Jehovah ; how the Christian crew, 

* It is needless to mention that this has no foundation what- 
ever in fact. It is told by Vanini in one of his Dialogues, 
"•De admirandis Naturse," &c., and there used by him, as 
here by me, without scruple, to serve a purpose by way of il- 
lustration. As regards Mohammed himself, it is a gross cal- 
.umny. But, as regards every form of Religious Authority 
founded on fear of the Supernatural, whereof Mohammed is 
here the dramatic representative, it is no calumny, but rather 
the feeble illustration of a formidable fact. 



220 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

"Wrangling around a desecrated Christ, 
Blackened the Light of God with smoke and mist 
Of idol incense ; how, in midst of this, 
Confusion crumbling down to the abyss, 
A void Avas, day by day, and hour by hour. 
Forming fit verge and scope for some new Power. 

And he perceived that every Power is good 
First, — since it comes from God, be it understood : 
But, after resting many years on earth, 
Power dwindles from the primal strength of birth, 
Grows weak, then gets confused, and, last, goes 

mad. 
So that it is the weakness that is bad, 
And not the potency, of creeds, and schools, 
And kings, and whatsoever reigns or .rules. 
For, howsoe'er the ruler wield the rod, 
His right to rule is by the grace of God, 
Not the disgrace of 'man, which they that cause 
By wrongful rule, are rebels to God's laws. 

And, whilst he thought on this, and thought beside 
How nothing now was wanting to provide 
That novel Power which should regenerate 
Mankind, renew belief, and re-create 
Creation, but one bold man's active will, 
Mohammed's secret thoughts were troubled, till 
They made a darkness on his countenance. 

Then Amru timidly raised up his glance 
Upon the Prophet's face. Amru, his friend. 
Who, through those solitudes to Avatch and tend 
Upon him, stole from Mecca, when the light 
Was fading out, and, footing the deep night, 



MOHAMMED. 221 

At daybreak found him in the wilderness ; 
And, all day long, beneath an intense stress 
Of silence, iDreathing low, was fain to lie. 
Just tolerated by the kingly eye 
Of his great friend, endeavoring to become 
Like a mere piece of the rock's self, — so dumb. 
And gray, and motionless. Amru at last 
Looked up ; and saw Mohammed's face o'ercast, 
And murmured, 

" Mohammed, art thou sad 1 " 

But still the Prophet seemed as though he had 
Nor seen nor heard him. 

Amru then arose. 
And crept a little nearer, and sat close 
Against the skirting of his robe, and said, 
" Mohammed, peace be with thee ! " 

Still, his head 
Mohammed lifted not, nor answered aught. 
Then Amru said again, 

" What is thy thought, 
Mohammed ? " 

And Mohammed answered : 

" Friend, 
A sad thought ; which I think you will not mend. 
For, first, I thought upon the mighty world 
Which lies beyond this wilderness, unfurled 
Like a great chart, to read in. And I saw. 
How in all places the old power and law 
Are falling off. Again, I thought upon 



222 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

My Arabs in the ages coming on ; 

The weakness, and the wickedness, of all 

The ancient races ; our OAvn strength ; God's call; 

And all we might be, if we heard but that. 

But if, I thought, I tell this people what 

God, who speaks to me in the solitude, 

Hath bid me tell them, the loud rabble rude 

Will mock me, crying, ' Who made thee to be 

A teacher of us 1 ' If I answer, ' He 

Whose name is Very God, and God Alone, 

He, and none other,' surely they will stone 

Or tear me. For though I, to prove the Lord 

Hath sent me to them, should proclaim his word, 

They will not heed it. Men were never wise 

(And never will be yet ! ) to recognize 

God, when he speaks by Law and Order : since 

In these there 's nothing startling to convince 

The jaded sense of those that day by day 

See law and order working every way 

Around them, — yet in vain ! And still God speaks 

Only by law and order ; never breaks 

The old law even to fulfil the new. 

But men are ever eager, when they view 

Some seeming strange disorder, to exclaim, 

' A god ! a god ! ' They think they hear God's 

name 
In thunder and in earthquake, but are deaf 
To the low lispings of the fallen leaf. 
And the soft hours. As though it were God's Avay 
To make man's mere bewilderment obey 
Some one of his immutably fixed laws 
By breaking of another, — for no cause 
Better than set agaping apes and fools, — 
Ruling his world by riving his own rules ! 



MOHAMMED. 



223 



A worthy way ! Sure am I, if anon 
Some mighty-mouthed prodigy, — yon stone, 
Say, — dumb as Pharaoh in his pyramid, 
Should suddenly find tongue, and, speaking, bid 
The hearers Avorship me, — or where, below 
There, like a mangled serpent trailing slow, 
The camel-path twists in and out the rocks. 
Yon sandy fissure, which the sly bitch-fox 
AVould choose well for her yellow nursery, 
Gave forth a voice, to every passer by 
Proclaiming me the Appointed One, .... they all 
Would straightway grovel at my feet, and call 
Heaven to attest how they believed, — each thief 
And liar vigorous in his vowed belief! 
But 't will not be." 

After a little pause, 
" Why not ? " said Amru. 

" Why not, friend 1 Because," 
Mohammed ansAvered, " Allah will not bring 
His heaven and earth together, just to wring 
Credence from creatures incapacious, slight, 
And void, as these. Nor, though his own hand 

write 
The wondrous warrant to this life of mine. 
Dare I so much as publish the divine 
Commission. Still the cautious earth and skies 
Keep close the secret. Let who will be wise. 
God shuts me in the hollow of his hand ; 
Though in my heart I hear his stern command, 
* Go forth, and preach.' " 

With petulant foot he spurned 
The sandy pebbles from him. 



224 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Amru turned 
His forehead, bright with sudden bravery, up ; 
And all his face flowed over, as a cup 
Wherein wine mantles, with a noble thought. 

" And God doth well ! " he answered, " though by 

naught, 
Mohammed, proved a mightier miracle 
(And, sure, God's gracious gift!) than is the spell 
Thou hast to sway to thine my inmost heart. 
Do I undoubtingly believe thou art 
The Man Appointed, — yet, indeed, for such 
As these, of whom thou speakest, needing much 
More gross and vulgar warrant for belief, — 
Incompetent to see in thee the Chief 
Of Prophets, by the dominant pale brow 
And eyes from which the sworded seraphs bow 
Their foreheads abasht, — O wherefore need God 

send 
A miracle more mighty than — a Friend, 
Who loves " . . . . 

" A friend ! " 

" I say, what miracle 
Diviner than the heart that loveth well ? " 

" So well ? " Mohammed faltered. 

" Even so," 
Said Amru, drooping faint his head, as though 
The effort to uplift that heavy weight 
Of his devoted passion proved too great, 
And dragged him down to earth. 



MOHAMMED. 225 

Mohammed sat 
Gasping against the silence : staring at 
The man before him, with a smould'ring eye : 
"Whilst his hand shut and opened silently, 
As though the Fiend's black forelock, slipping 

through 
His feverish clutch, just foiled him : and the hue 
Waned into whiteness on his swarthy cheek. 
Then Amru, when Mohammed would not speak. 
Lifted his looks, and gazed, as though in doubt 
Of what strange thing the silence was about. 
And Amru said : 

* 

" Mohammed, let thy slave 
Find favor in thy sight ! — albeit, I haA^e 
No wit in counsel. Get thee privily 
Again to Mecca. Leave this night to me. 
To-morrow, stand up in the market-place 
And plead against the people, face to face. 
And call them hither ; prophesying they 
By sign and miracle along the way 
Shall know The Man Appointed. I, meanwhile, 
Will creep into yon crevice .... Ha ! dost smile, 
Mohammed 1 Dost approve the thing I mean 1 — 
Will creep into yon crevice, and, unseen. 
Await the multitude, — which must come by. 
Thou guiding. Unto whom a voice shall cry, 
' This is Mohammed ! I, the Lord of Heaven, 
Make known to all this people, I have given 
To him to preach My Laiv, — that he may he 
My Prophet to all nations under Me.' — 
Smile ! smile again, Mohammed ! . . . . Only 

smile 
Less terribly upon me ! .... Of the vile 
VOL. I. 15 



226 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS, 

The vilest, — yet thy servant, Awful One ! 
Less terribly, Mohammed ! . . . . 

" Then, anon, 
When all the place is silent, — the crowd far — 
Far out of sight — and nothing but yon star 
To witness, — I will steal out of the cave." .... 

"Hah!" .... 

" Mohammed, am I not thy slave ? 
Look not so fiercely on me ! . . . . And far off 
Follow the silly people. Who will scoff ? 
,Who will misdoubt thee then 1 . . . . Mohammed, 
speak ! " 

Mohammed spake not. 

All the Prophet's cheek 
Was wan with whirling thoughts that o'er it cast 
Their troubled shades, and left it calm at last, 
As battle-fields, — when battles have been Avon 
Or lost, and dawn breaks slowly. 

" Be it, my son. 
As thou hast spoken. This is God's command." 
He wearily sighed, and laid a heavy hand 
On Amru's shoulder. " I to Mecca go 
This night. At dawn, as thou hast said, so do." 

And all night long, over the silent sand. 
Under the silent stars, across the land 
Mohammed fled : as though he heard the feet 
Of Iblis following, and a voice repeat 
Close at his ear, monotonous and slow, 



MOHAMMED. 



227 



" Thou wouldst have had this man trust thee. Bat 

now, 
Mohammed, thou thyself must trust to him." 

And the voice ceased not ; nor the feet ; till, dim 
At first, then flaring in a stormy sky. 
The drear dawn lightened o'er him angrily. 

That day he stood up in the market-place, 
And pleaded with the people face to face ; 
Pouring from urns of solitary thought 
A piercing eloquence upon them, brought, 
Word after word, by wondrous Spirits from far, 
Shrill with the music of the morning star, 
Weighty with thunder. Some averred they saw 
The light that lighted Moses, when the Law 
On Sinai from God's finger he received, 
Enhalo all his brow. The noon achieved 
The dawn's desire. They followed him by flocks 
Far through the Desert to the rifted rocks. 
And, ever as they journeyed, in their van 
A thunder-cloud, that, since the day began. 
Had labored to demolish half the sky, 
Travelled to reach Mount Hara, and there die. 
And still the people followed ; and, beside 
The mountain halting, heard a voice which cried 
(Out of a rocky fissure, the ground story 
Of some wild coney's dismal dormitory) : 

" This is Mohavimed! I, the Lord of Heaven, 
Proclaim to all this people, I have given 
To him to preach My Law, that he may he 
My Prophet, to all nations under Me." 



228 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

And, as the voice ceased, suddenly a streak 
Of forked fire flickered from a riven creek 
In the spent cloud, which, splitting overhead 
Bellowed. 

And all the people cried, and said 
" The Voice of God ! " 

And then did each man fall 
Elat at the Prophet's feet, and, grovelling, call 
On Heaven's Appointed. 

" Speak, Mohammed ! speak ! " 
Mohammed spake not. 

All the Prophet's cheek 
Was white with pain, as warring angels passed 
Across his trampled soul, — left bare at last 
As battle-fields, when battles have been won, 
Or lost, and dawn breaks slowly. 

Blocks of stone. 
Tumbled by ages in the rifted sand. 
Burned white about the lion-colored land. 
And, beaten by a blinding sunlight, made 
Blots, in a level glare, of sprinkled shade. 
Mohammed stretched his hand. Not Moses' rod 
Won easier reverence. 

" Ay ! the Voice of God 
Hath spoken, not to be misunderstood, 
This day unto us. Wherefore, it seems good 
To build, O friends, an altar to The Lord 
Here on the spot from whence the wondrous Word 
Hath issued. And see ! Nature, warned before 
Of this forecast event, hath furnished store 



MOHAMMED. 229 

Of stone to build with. Never from this day- 
Be it averred that any beast of pi*ey 
Or reptile base hath been allowed to dwell 
Where God first housed his Holy Oracle ! 
Cram every crevice of this mountain flaw : 
Leave not a loophole for the leopard's paw, 
A cranny that a mouse might wriggle through ! 
If anything unclean hath crept into 
This Mouth of Earth where Heaven's high Voice 

abode 
Erewhile, friends, — worm, adder, viper, toad. 
There let it perish 'neath a costlier tomb 
Than ever reptile owned ! Seal up the womb 
Of this dread prodigy. Hark ! from yon cloud 
Above us, Spirits of the thunder, bowed 
To watch, grow wild, impatient to be gone. 
Begin the work. Pile strong with ponderous 

stone 
The altar. Bear ye each his burden .... Nay, 
None but myself the first firm stone shall lay 
Unto this sacred fabric ! " . . . 

Then himself. 
Fiercely dislodging from its sandy shelf 
A mighty mountain fragment, rolled, with might 
And main, the rock-surrendered offering right 
Against the cave. And turned himself about 
And hid his face. In prayer, as who shall doubt ? 

And, when the people heard this, they were glad 

Exceedingly : not only to have had 

No heavier task enjoined them, but because 

If any man profane had dared to pause 

And doubt till then, he, certes, had no choice 



230 



CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 



But to believe henceforth. For, if the voice 
Were nothing more than human, the command 
Was something less. Could mere Ambition stand 
Thus calmly contemplating, stone by stone. 
The immurement of some creature of its own ? 
And so they heartened to the work, until 
The rocky altar rose against the hill ; 
And then Mohammed blest it. 

And that day. 
Upon that altar. Providence, they say, 
Founded a new Religion. Which, thus reared 
In the lone Desert, spread, and soon ensphered 
The quadripartite globe. But, from that day, 
Mohammed went no more alone to pray 
On Hara, as his wont had been before. 

For him, the sweet of solitude was o'er. 



THE ROSES OF SAADL 231 



THE ROSES OF SAADI. 




I. 

MOSES AND THE DERVISH. 

OD, that heaven's seven climates hath 
spread foi'th, 
To every creature, even as is the worth, 
The lot apportions, and the use of 
things. 
If to the creeping cat were given wings. 
No sparrow's egg would ever be a bird. 

Moses the Prophet, who with God conferred, 
Beheld a Dervish, that, for dire distress 
And lack of clothes to hide his nakedness, 
Buried his body in the desert sand. 
This Dervish cried : 

" Moses, whom the Hand 
Of the Most High God favors ! make thy prayer 
That he may grant me food and clothes to wear 
Who knows the misery of me, and the need." 

Then Moses prayed to God, that he would feed 
And clothe that Dervish. 

Nine days after this, 
Returning from Mount Sinai in bliss. 



232 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Having beheld God's face, the Prophet met 
The Dervish in the hands of Justice, set 
Between two officers ; and, all about, 
The rabble followed him with hoot, and shout, 
And jeer. 

The Prophet asked of those that cried, 
" What hath befallen this man ? " 

And they replied, 
" He hath drunk wine, and, having slain a man, 
Is going to the death." 

Moses began 
To praise the Maker of the Universe, 
Seeing that his prayer, though granted, proved 

perverse, 
Since God to every living soul sets forth 
The circumstance according; to the worth. 



THE BOY AND THE RING. 233 

II. 

THE BOY AND THE EING. 

Fair chance, held fast, is merit. A certain king 

Of Persia had a jewel in a ring. 

He set it on the dome of Azud high ; 

And, when they saw it flashing in the sky, 

Made proclamation to his royal troop. 

That whoso sent an arrow through the hoop 

That held the gem, should have the ring to wear. 

It chanced there were four hundred archers near, 
Of the king's company, about the king. 

Each took his aim, and shot, and missed the ring. 

A boy, at play upon the terraced roof 

Of a near building, bent his bow aloof 

At random, and behold ! the morning breeze 

His little arrow caught, and bore with ease 

Eight through the circlet of the gem. The king, 

Well pleased, unto the boy assigned the ring. 

Then the boy burnt his arrows and his bow. 

The king, astonished, said, " Why dost thou so. 
Seeing thy first shot hath had great success "i " 

He answered, " Lest my second make that less." 



234 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

III. 

THE EYES OF MAHMUD. 

Sultan Mahmijd, son of Sabaktogin, 
Swept with his sceptre the hot sands of Zin, 
Spread forth his mantle over Palestine, 
And made the carpet of his glory shine 
Erom Cufah to Cashmere ; and, in his pride, 
Said, " All these lands are mine." 

At last he died. 

Then his sons laid him with exceeding state 
In a deep tomb. Upon the granite gate 
Outside they graved in gold his titles all. 
And all the names of kingdoms in his thrall. 
And all his glory. And beside his head 
They placed a bag of rice, a loaf of bread. 
And water in a pitcher. This they did 
In order that, if God should haply bid 
His servant Death to let this sultan go 
Because of his surpassing greatness, so 
He might not come back hungry. But he lay 
In his high marble coffin night and day 
Motionless, without majesty or will. 

Darkness sat down beside him, and was still. 

Afterwards, when a hundred years had rolled, 

A certain king, desiring to behold 

This famous sultan, gave command to unlock 



THE EYES OF MAEMUD. 235 

The granite gate of that sepulchral rock, 
And, with a lamp, went down into the tomb, 
And all his court. 

Out of the nether gloom 
There rose a loathsome stench intolerable. 
Hard by the marble coffin, on a sill 
Of mildewed stone the earthen pitcher stood, 
Untouched, untasted. Rats, a ravenous brood. 
Had scattered all the rice, and gnawed the bread. 
All that was left upon his marble bed 
Of the great Sultan was a little heap 
Of yellow bones, and a dry skull, with deep 
Eye-sockets. But in those eye-sockets, lo ! 
Two living eyes were rolling to and fro. 
Now left, now right, with never any rest. 

Then was the king amazed, and smote his breast. 
And called on God for grace. But not the less 
Those dismal eyes with dreadful restlessness 
Continually in their socket-holes 
Rolled right and left, like pained and wicked souls. 
Then said the king, " Call here an Abid, wise 
And righteous, to rebuke those wicked eyes 
That will not rest." 

And when the Abid came 
The king said, " O mine Abid, in the name 
Of the High God that judges quick and dead. 
Speak to those eyes." 

The Abid, trembling, said : 
" Eyes of Mahmud, why is your rest denied 
In death ? What seek ye here ? " 



236 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

The eyes replied, 
Still rolling in their withered sockets there : 
" God's curse uj)on this darkness ! Where, O 

where 
Be my possessions ? For with fierce endeavor 
Ever we seek them, but can find them never,"" 



THE APPLE OF LIFE. 237 



THE APPLE OF LIFE. 




ROM the river Euphrates, the river whose 
source is in Paradise, far 
As red Egypt, — sole lord of the land 
and the sea,'twixt the eremite star 
Of the orient desert's lone dawn, and the porch of 

the chambers of rest 
Where the great sea is girded with fire, and Orion 

returns in the West, 
And the ships come and go in grand silence, — 

King Solomon reigned. And behold, 
In that time there was everywhere silver as common 

as stones be, and gold 
That for plenty was 'counted as silver, and cedar 

as sycamore trees 
That are found in the vale, for abundance. For 

God to the King gave all these. 
With glory exceeding ; moreover all kings of the 

earth to him came. 
Because of his wisdom, to hear him. So great 

was King Solomon's fame. 

And for all this the King's soul was sad. And 

his heart said within him, " Alas, 
For man dies ! if his glory abideth, himself from 

his glory shall pass. 
And that which remaineth behind him, he seeth it 

not any more : 
For how shall he know what comes after, who 

knoweth not what went before 1 



238 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

I have planted me gardens and vineyards, and got- 
ten me silver and gold, 

And my hand from whatever my heart hath desired 
I did not withhold : 

And what profit have I in the Avorks of my hands 
which I take not away 1 

I have searched out wisdom and knowledge : and 
what do they profit me, they ? 

As the fool dieth, so doth the wise. What is gath- 
ered is scattered again. 

As the breath of the beasts, even so is the breath 
of the children of men : 

And the same thing befalleth them both. And not 
any man's soul is his own." 

This he thought, as he sat in his garden, and 

watched the great sun going down 
In the glory thereof ; and the earth and the sky, in 

that glory, became 
Clothed clear with the gladness of color, and bathed 

in the beauty of flame. 
And " Behold," said the King, " in a moment the 

glory shall vanish ! " Even then. 
While he spake, he was 'ware of a man drawing 

near him, who seemed to his ken 
(By the hair in its blackness like flax that is burned 

in the hemp-dresser's shed. 
And the brow's smoky hue, and the smouldering 

eyeball more livid than lead) 
As the sons of the land that lies under the sword 

of the Cherub whose wing 
Wraps in wrath the shut gateways of Paradise. 

He, being come to the King, 
Seven times made obeisance befoi'c him. -To whom, 

" What art thou," the King cried. 



THE APPLE OF LIFE. 



^39 



*' That thus unannounced to King Solomon com- 

est 1 " The man, spreading wide 
The palm of his right hand, showed in it an apple 

yet bright from the Tree 
In whose stem springs the life never-failing which 

Sin lost to Adam, when he, 
Tasting knowledge forbidden, found death in the 

fruit of it .... So doth the Giver 
Evil gifts to the evil apportion. And " Hail ! let 

the King live foi'ever ! " 
Bowing down at the feet of the monarch, and 

laughingly, even as one 
Whose meaning, in joy or in jest, hovers hid 'twixt 

the word and the tone. 
Said the stranger (as lightly the apple he dropped 

in the hand of the King), 
" For lo ye ! from 'twixt the four rivers of Eden, 

God gave me to bring 
To his servant King Solomon, even to my lord 

that on Israel's throne 
He hath 'stablisht, this fruit from the Tree in 

whose branch Life abideth ; for none 
Shall taste death, having tasted this apple." 

And therewith he vanished. 

Remained 
In the hand of the King the life-apple : ambrosial 

of breath, golden -grained, 
Rosy-bright as a star dipt in sunset. The King 

turned it o'er, and perused 
The fruit, which, alluring his lip, in his hand lay 

untasted. 

He mused, 
" Life is good : but not life in itself. Life eternal, 
eternally young. 



240 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

That were life to be lived, or desired ! Well it 

were if a man could prolong 
The manhood that moves in the muscles, the rap- 
ture that mounts in the brain 
When life at the prime, in the pastime of living, led 

on by the train 
Of the jubilant senses, exulting goes forth, brave 

of body and spirit, 
To conquer, choose, claim, and enjoy what 't was 

born to achieve or inherit. 
The dance, and the festal procession ! the pride in 

the strenuous play 
Of the sinews that, eager for service, the will, 

though it Avanton, obey ! 
When in veins lightly flowing, the fertile and boun- 
tiful impulses beat, 
When the dews of the dawn of Desire on the roses 

of Beauty are sweet : 
And the eye glows with glances that kindle, the lip 

breathes the warmth that inspires, 
And the hand hath yet vigor to seize the good 

thing which the spirit desires ! 
O well for the foot that bounds forward ! and ever 

the wind it awakes 
Lifts no lock from the forehead yet white, not a 

leaf that is Avithered yet shakes 
Trom the loose flowers wreathing young tresses ! 

and ever the earth and the skies 
Abound in rich ardors, rejoicings, and raptures of 

endless surprise ! 
Life is sweet to the young that yet know not what 

life is. But life, after Youth, 
The gay liar, leaves hold of the bawble, and Age, 

with his terrible truth, 



THE APPLE OF LIFE. 241 

Picks it up, and perceives it is broken, and knows 

it unfit to engage 
The care it yet craves. . . . Life eternal, eternally 

wedded to Age ! 
What gain were in that "? Why should any man 

seek what he loathes to prolong ? 
The twilight that darkens the eyeball : the dull ear 

that 's deaf to the song, 
When the maidens rejoice, and the bride to the 

bridegroom, with music, is led : 
The palsy that shakes 'neath the blossoms that fall 

from the chill bridal bed. 
When the hand saith, ' 1 did,' not < / will do' the 

heart saith ' It was,' not ' 'T will be,' 
Too late in man's life is Forever, — too late comes 

this apple to me ! " 
Then the King rose. And lo, it was evening. 

And leaning, because he was old. 
On the sceptre that, curiously sculptured in ivory 

garnished with gold, 
To others a rod of dominion, to him was a staff for 

support, 
Slow paced he the murmurous pathways where 

myrtles, in court up to court, 
Mixt with roses in garden on garden, were ranged 

around fountains that fed 
With cool music green odorous twilights ; and so, 

never lifting his head 
To look up from the way he walked wearily, he to 

the House of his Pride 
Keascended, and entered. 

In cluster, high lamps, spices, odors, each 
side, 
VOL. I. 16 



242 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Burning inward and onward, from cinnamon ceil- 
ings, down distances vast 

Of voluptuous vistas, illumined deep halls through 
Avhose silentness passed 

King Solomon sighing ; where columns colossal 
stood, gathered in groves 

As the trees of the forest in Libanus, — there where 
the wind, as it moves. 

Whispers, "I, too, am Solomon's servant ! " — huge 
trunks hid in garlands of gold. 

On whose tops the skilled sculptors of Sidon had 
granted men's gaze to behold 

How the phoenix that sits on the cedar's lone sum- 
mit 'mid fragrance and fire. 

Ever dying and living, hath loaded with splendors 
her funeral pyre ; 

How the stork builds her nest on the pine-top ; the 
date from the palm-branch depends ; 

And the shaft of the blossoming aloe soars crown- 
ing the life which it ends. 

And from hall on to hall, in the doors, mute, mag- 
nificent slaves, watchful-eyed. 

Bowed to earth as King Solomon passed them. 
And, passing. King Solomon sighed. 

And, from hall on to hall pacing feebly, the King 
mused . ..." fair Shulamite ! 

Thy beauty is brighter than starlight on Hebron 
when Hebron is briorht. 

Thy sweetness is sweeter than Carmel. The King 
rules the nations ; but thou, 

Thou rulest the King, my Beloved." 

So murmured King Solomon low 
To himself, as he passed through the portal of por- 
phyry, that dripped, as he passed, 



THE APPLE OF LIFE. 



243 



From the myrrh-sprinkled wreaths on the locks and 

the lintels ; and entered at last, 
Still sighing, the sweet cedarn chamber, contrived 

for repose and delight, 
Where the beautiful Shulamite slumbered. And 

straightway, to left and to right. 
Bowing down as he entered, the Spirits in bondage 

to Solomon, there 
Keeping watch o'er his love, sank their swords, 

spread their wings, and evanished in air. 
The King with a kiss woke the sleeper. And, 

showing the fruit in his hand, 
" Behold ! this was brought me erewhile by one 

coming," he said, " from the land 
That lies under the sword of the Cherub. 'T was 

pluckt by strange hands from the Tree 
Of whose fruit whoso tasteth shall die not. And 

therefore I bring it to thee. 
My bclove'd. For thou of the daughters of women 

art fairest. And lo, 
I, the King, I that love thee, whom men of man's 

sons have called wisest, I know 
That in knowledge is sorrow. Much thought is 

much care. In the beauty of youth, 
Not the wisdom of age, is enjoyment. Nor spring, 

is it sweeter, in truth. 
Than winter, to roses once withered. The gar- 
ment, though broidered with gold. 
Fades apace where the moth frets the fibres. So I, 

in my glory, grow old. 
And this life maketh mine (save the bliss of my 

soul in the beauty of thee) 
No sweetness so great now that greatly unsweet 

't were to lose what to me 



244 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Life prolonged, at its utmost, can promise. But 

thine, thou spirit of bliss, 
Thine is all that the living desire, — youth, beauty, 

love, joy in all this ! 
And O, were it not well for the praise of the world 

to maintain evermore 
This mould of a woman, God's masterwork, made 

for mankind to adore ? 
Wherefore keep thou the gift I resign. Live forever, 

rejoicing in life ! 
And of women unborn yet the fairest shall still be 

King Solomon's wife." 
So he said, and so droj)ped in her bosom the apple. 

But when he was gone. 
And the beautiful Shulamite, eying the gift of the 

King, sat alone 
With the thoughts the King's words had awakened, 

as ever she turned and perused 
The fruit that, alluring her lip, in her hand lay 

untasted, — she mused : 
*' Life is good ; but not life in itself. So is youth, 

so is beauty. Mere stuff 
Are all these for Love's usance. To live, it is well ; 

but it is not enough. 
Well, too, to be fair, to be young ; but what good 

is in beauty and youth 
If the lovely and young are not surer than they 

that be neither, forsooth. 
Young nor lovely, of being beloved 1 O my love, 

if thou lovest not me. 
Shall I love my own life 1 Am I fair, if not fair, 

Azariah, to thee ? " 
Then she hid in her bosom the apple. And rose. 



THE APPLE OF LIFE. 245 

And, reversing the ring 
That, inscribed with the word that works wonders, 

and signed with the seal of the King, 
Hath o'er spirits and demons dominion — (for she, 

for a plaything, erewhile 
From King Solomon's awful forefinger, had won it 

away with a smile) — 
The beautiful Shulamite folded her veil o'er her 

forehead and eyes. 
And, with footsteps that fleeted as silent and swift 

as a bird's shadow flies. 
Unseen from the palace, she passed, and passed 

down to the city unseen. 
Unseen passed the green garden wicket, the vine- 
yard, the cypresses green. 
And stood by the doors of the house of the Prince 

Azariah. And cried. 
In the darkness she cried, — " Azariah, awaken ! 

ope, ope to me wide ! 
Ope the door, ope the lattice ! Arise ! Let me 

in, O my love ! It is I. 
Thee, the bride of King Solomon, loveth. Love, 

tarry not. Love, shall I die 
At thy doors 1 I am sick of desire. For my love 

is more comely than gold. 
More precious to me is my love than the throne of 

a king that is old. 
Behold, I have passed through the city, unseen of 

the watchmen. I stand 
By the doors of the house of my love, till my love 

lead me in by the hand." 
Azariah arose. And unbolted the door to the fair 

Shulamite. 
" my queen, what dear folly is this, that hath led 

thee alone, and by night. 



246 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

To the house of King Solomon's servant ? For lo 

you, the watchmen awake. 
And much for my own, O my queen, must I fear, 

and much more for thy sake. 
For at that which is done in the chamber the leek 

on the housetop shall peep : 
And the hand of a king it is heavy : the eyes of a 

king never sleep : 
But the bird of the air beareth news to the king, 

and the stars of the sky 
Are as soldiers by night on the turrets. I fear, O 

my queen, lest we die." 
" Fear thou not, O my love ! Azariah, fear noth- 
ing. For lo, what I bring ! 
'T is the fruit of the Tree that in Paradise God hid- 

eth under the wing 
Of the Cherub that chased away Adam. And 

whoso this apple doth eat 
Shall live — live forever ! And since unto me my 

own life is less sweet 
Than thy love, Azariah, (sweet only thy love mak- 

eth life unto me !) 
Therefore eat ! Live, and love, for life's sake, still, 

the love that gives life unto thee ! " 
Then she held to his lips the life-apple, and kissed 

him. 

But soon as alone, 
Azariah leaned out from his lattice, he muttered, 

" 'T is well ! She is gone." 
While the fruit in his hand layuntasted. " Such 

visits," he mused, " may cost dear. 
In the love of the great is great danger, much 

trouble, and care more than cheer." 



THE APPLE OF LIFE. 247 

Then he laughed, and stretched forth his strong arms. 

For he heard from the streets of the city 
The song of the women that sing in the doors after 

dark their love ditty. 
And the clink of the wine-cup, the voice of the 

wanton, the tripping of feet, 
And the laughter of youths running after, allured 

him. And " Life, it is sweet 
While it lasts," sang the women, ''and sweeter the 

good minute, in that it goes, 
For who, if the rose bloomed forever, so greatly would 

care for the rose? 
Wlierefore haste ! pluck the time in the blossom." The 

prince mused, " The counsel is well." 
And the fruit to his lips he uplifted : yet paused. 

" Who is he that can tell 
What his days shall bring forth 1 Life forever .... 

But what sort of life 1 Ah, the doubt ! " 
^Neath his cloak then he thrust back the apple. 

And opened the door and passed out 
To the house of the harlot Egyptian. And mused, 

as he went, •' Life is good : 
But not life in itself It is well while the wine- 
cup is hot in the blood. 
And a man goeth whither he listeth, and doeth the 

thing that he will, 
And liveth his life as he lusteth, and taketh in free- 
dom his fill 
Of the pleasure that pleaseth his humor, and feareth 

no snare by the way. 
Shall I care to be loved by a queen, if my pride 

with my freedom I pay 1 
Better far is a handful in quiet than both hands, 

though filled to overflow 



248 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

With pride, in vexation of spirit. And sweeter the 
roses that blow 

From the wild seeds the wind, where he wanders, 
with heedless beneficence flings, 

Than those that are guarded by dragons to bright- 
en the gardens of kings. 

Let a man take his chance, and be happy. The 
hart, though hard pressed by the hounds, 

When the horn of the hunter hath scattered the 
herd from the hills where it sounds, 

Is more to be envied, though Death with his dart 
follow fast to destroy. 

Than the tame beast that, pent in the paddock, 
tastes neither the danger nor joy 

Of the mountain, and all its surprises. The main 
thing is, not to live long^ 

But to live. Better moments of rapture soon end- 
ed than ages of wrong. 

Life's feast is best spiced by the flavor of death in 
it. Just the one chance 

To lose it to-morrow the life that a man lives to- 
day doth enhance. 

The may-be for me, not the must-be ! Best flour- 
ish while flourish the flowers. 

And fall ere the frost falls. The dead, do they 
rest or arise with new powers 1 

Either way, well for them. Mine, meanwhile, be 
the cup of life's fulness to-night. 

And to-morrow .... Well, time to consider " (he 
felt at the fruit). " What delight 

Of his birthright had Esau, when hungry ? To- 
day with its pottage is sweet. 

For a man cannot feed and be full on the faith of 
to-morrow's baked meat. 

Open ! open, my dark-eyed beguiler of darkness ! '* 



THE APPLE OF LIFE. 



249 



Up rose to his knock, 
Light of foot, the lascivious Egyptian, and lifted 

the latch from the lock. 
And opened. And led in the prince to her cham- 
ber, and shook out her hair. 
Dark, heavy, and humid with odors ; her bosom 

beneath it laid bare. 
And sleek sallow shoulder ; and sloped back her 

face, as, when falls the slant South 
In wet whispers of rain, flowers bend back to catch 

it ; so she, with shut mouth 
Half unfolding for kisses ; and sank, as they fell, 

'twixt his knees, with a laugh. 
On the floor, in a flood of deep hair flung behind 

her full throat ; held him half 
Aloof with one large languid arm, while the other 

up-propped, where she lay, 
Limbs flowing in fulness and lucid in surface as 

waters at play, 
Though in firmness as slippery marble. Anon 

she sprang loose from his clasp, 
And whirled from the table a flagon of silver twined 

round by an asp 
That glittered, — rough gold and red rubies ; and 

poured him, and praised him, the wine 
Wherewith she first brightened the moist lip that 

murmured, " Ha, fool ! art thou mine ? 
I am thine. This will last for an hour." Then, 

humming strange words of a song, 
Sung by maidens in Memphis the old, when they 

bore the Crowned Image along, 
Apples yellow and red from a basket with vine- 
leaves o'erlaid she 'gan take. 
And played with, peeled, tost them, and caught 

them, and bit them, for idleness' sake ; 



a5o CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

But the rinds on the floor she flung from her, and 
laughed at the figures they made, 

As her foot pusht them this wa}'- and that way to- 
gether. And, " Look, fool," she said, 

" It is all sour fruit, this ! But those I fling from 
me — see here by the stain ! — 

Shall carry the mark of my teeth in their flesh. 
Could they feel but the pain, 

O my soul, how these teeth should go through them ! 
Fool, fool, what good gift dost thou bring 1 

For thee have I sweetened with cassia my cham- 
bers." " A gift for a king," 

Azariah laughed loud ; and tost to her the apple. 
" This comes from the Tree 

Of whose fruit whoso tastes lives forever. I care 
not. I give it to thee. 

Nay, witch ! 't is worth more than the shekels of 
gold thou hast charmed from my purse. 

Take it. Eat. Life is sweeter than knowledge : 
and Eve, thy sly mother, fared worse, 

O thou white-toothe'd taster of apples ! " " Thou 
liest, fool 1 " " Taste, then, and try. 

For the truth of the fruit 's in the eating. 'T is thou 
art the serpent, not I." 

And the strong man laughed loud as he pushed at 
her lip the life-apple. She caught 

And held it away from her, musing ; and mut- 
tered . ..." Go to ! It is naught. 

Fool, why dost thou laugh 1 " And he answered, 
" Because, witch, it tickles my brain 

Intensely to think that all we, that be Something 
while yet we remain, 

We, the princes of people — ay, even the King's 
self — shall die in our day, 



THE APPLE OF LIFE. 



25* 



And thou, that art Nothing, shall sit on our graves, 

with our grandsons, and play." 
So he said, and laughed louder. 

But when, in the gray of the dawn, he was gone, 
And the wan light waxed large in the window, as 

she on her bed sat alone. 
With the fruit that, alluring her lip, in her hand 

lay untasted, perusing, 
Perplext, the gay gift of the Prince, the dark 

woman thereat fell a musing. 
And she thought .... "What is Life without 

Honor ? And what can the life that I live 
Give to me, I shall care to continue, not caring 

for aught it can give ? 
I, despising the fools that despise me, — a plaything 

not pleasing myself, — 
Whose life, for the pelf that maintains it, must sell 

what is paid not by pelf ! 
I ? . . . . the man called me Nothing. He said well. 

' The great in their glory must go.' 
And why should I linger, whose life leadeth no- 
where % — a life which I know 
To name is to shame, — struck, unsexed, by the 

world from its list of the lives 
Of the women whose womanhood, saved, gets them 

leave to be mothers and wives. 
And the fancies of men change. And bitterly 

bought is the bread that I eat ; 
For, though purchased with body and spirit, Avhen 

purchased 't is yet all unsweet." 
Her tears fell : they fell on the apple. She sighed 

. . . . " Sour fruit, like the rest ! 
Let it go with the salt tears upon it. Yet life 

.... it were sweet if possessed 



252 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

In the power thereof, and the beauty. * A gift for 

a king ' . . . . did he say ? 
Ay, a king's life is life as it should be, — a life like 

the light of the day, 
Wherein all that liveth rejoiceth. For is not the 

King as the sun 
That shineth in heaven and seemeth both heaven 

and itself all in one ? 
Then to whom may this fruit, the life-giver, be 

worthily given ? Not me. 
Nor the fool Azariah that sold it for folly. The 

King ! only he, — 
Only he hath the life that 's worth living forever. 

Whose life, not alone 
Is the life of the King, but the life of the many 

made mighty in one. 
To the King will I carry this apple. And he (for 

the hand of a king 
Is a fountain of hope) in his handmaid shall honor 

the gift that I bring. 
And men for this deed shall esteem me, with 

Rahab by Israel praised. 
As first among those who, though lowly, their 

shame into honor have raised : 
Such honor as lasts when life goes, and, while life 

lasts, shall lift it above 
What, if loved by the many I loathe, must be 

loathed by the few I could love." 

So she rose, and went forth through the city. 
And with her the apple she bore 

In her bosom : and stood 'mid the multitude, wait- 
ing therewith in the door 

Of the hall where the King, to give judgment, 
ascended at morning his throne: 



THE APPLE OF LIFE. 



^53 



And kneeling there, cried, " Let the King live for- 
ever ! Behold, I am one 
Whom the vile of themselves count the vilest. 

But great is the grace of my lord. 
And now let my lord on his handmaid look down, 

and give ear to her word." 
Thereat, in the witness of all, she drew forth, and 

(uplifting her head) 
Showed the Apple of Life, which who tastes, tastes 

not death. " And this apple," she said, 
" Last night was delivered to me, that thy servant 

should eat, and not die. 
But I said to the soul of thy servant, 'Not so. 

For behold, what am I ? 
That the King, in his glory and gladness, should 

cease from the light of the sun, 
Whiles I, that am least of his slaves, in my shame 

and abasement live on.' 
For not sweet is the life of thy servant, unless to 

thy servant my lord 
Stretch his hand, and show favor. For surely the 

frown of a king is a sword. 
But the smile of the King is as honey that flows 

from the clefts of the rock. 
And his grace is as dew that from Horeb descends 

on the heads of the flock : 
In the King is the hea.rt of a host : the King's 

strength is an army of men : 
And the wrath of the King is a lion that roareth 

by night from his den : 
But as grapes from the vines of En-Gedi are favors 

that fall from his hands. 
And as towers on the hill-tops of Shenir the throne 

of King Solomon stands. 



254 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

And for this, it were well that forever the King, 

who is many in one, 
Should sit, to be seen through all time, on a throne 

'twixt the moon and the sun ! 
For how shall one lose M'hat he hath not ? Who 

hath, let him keep what he hath. 
Wherefore I to the King give this apple." 

Then great was King Solomon's wrath. 
And he rose, rent his garment, and cried, " AVo- 

man, whence came this apple to thee'?" 
But when he was 'ware of the truth, then his heart 

was awakened. And he 
Knew at once that the man who, erewhile, 'un- 
awares coming to him, had brought 
That Apple of Life was, indeed, God's good Angel 

of Death. And he thought, 
"In mercy, I doubt not, when man's eyes were 

opened and made to see plain 
All the wrong in himself, and the wretchedness, 

God sent to close them again 
For man's sake, his last friend upon earth, — Death, 

the servant of God, who is just. 
Let man's spirit to Him whence it cometh i*eturn, 

and his dust to the dust ! " 

Then the Apple of Life did King Solomon seal in 

an urn that was signed 
With the seal of Oblivion : and summoned the 

Spirits that walk in the wind 
Unseen on the summits of mountains, where never 

the eagle yet flew; 
And these he commanded to bear far away, — out 

of reach, out of view, 



THE APPLE OF LIFE. 



255 



Out of hope, out of memory, — higher than Ararat 

buildeth his throne. 
In the Urn of Oblivion the Apple of Life. 

But on green jasper-stone 
Did the King write the story thereof for instruction. 

And Enoch, the seer, 
Coming afterward, searched out the meaning. And 

he that hath ears, let him hear. 



END OE BOOK V. 



BOOK VI. 

TWELFTH AND THIRTEENTH CENTURIES. 

SIEGE OF CONSTANTINOPLE. 



"Et Se TrenovOaTe Seiva St ifJieTepy]v KaKorrjTa, 
M>J Ti ©cots TOVTtav ixoipav c;raju.(^epeTe. 
AuTol yap TOVTOvs ■t]i<^r)(ra.Te pvcria Sovres, 
Kai Sia ravra /ca/crjv eVxere fiovAocuvrji/." 

NiCETAS. 



VOL. I. 17 



THE 
SIEGE OF CONSTANTINOPLE. 

A CHRONICLE OF THE FALL OF THE GREEK 
EMPIRE. 

IN FOUR PARTS. 



PAKT I. 

"La vint al Comte, si comme dit 
Vn Danziaus, ki ioenes estoit 
A qui toute Gresse appendoit, 
Par son Oncle ies deserites 
Et de chastiaus & de cites. 

Alexis ot nom, mult fu biaus, 
Bien ensenies iere le Danziaus : 
***** 

Contfe li a tot son afaire, 
Et li Quens ki bien li vot faire, 
Li fist jurer le sairement, 
Kil en iroit tout voirement 
A quan qu'il poroit outremer 
Auec lui s'il puet recouurer 
Sa tierre, & tant faire 11 sache 
Que couronne porter li face." 

Philippes Mouskes. 




26o CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 



THE EMPEROR ISAAC. 

iN gold Byzantium, girt with purple seas, 
Isaac is Emperor, and reigns at ease. 
For, if he smiles, a swarm of gilded 
slaves 

Smiles also, grateful for the grace that saves 
Their fortunes one day longer : if he frowns, 
Spears sparkle on the walls of frightened towns, 
And half the East is darkened : if he sleeps. 
The soul of Music o'er his slumber keeps 
Melodious vigil, and, down lucid floors 
Of marble chambers vast, at sighing doors 
Dusk faces watch, while long-haired large-eyed girls 
Crouch at his pillow fringed with dropping pearls. 
Proud to up-prop his throne, four lions — four 
Large bulks of blazing gold — crook evermore 
Their wrinkled backs. For him the murex dies 
In Tyrrhene nets. For him, 'neath golden skies, 
In gorgeous cluster, all those glittering isles 
That circle Delos, where the sun first smiles, 
Broider the sea's blue breast with beauty rare. 
For him, through valleys cooled with shadowy air, 
The Phrygian shepherd leads his numerous flocks. 
His are the towers on Helespontine rocks. 
And his the hill-built citadels that crown 
Morean bays, by many a mountain town. 
For him, from antique Thessaly's witch-lands 
Sweet sorceries breathe. For him, the hardy bands 
Of snowy Thrace, a multitude of spears, 
March Avitli the Macedonian mountaineers. 
From strong Durazzo's battleniented steep 



SIEGE OF CONSTANTINOPLE. 261 

To sultry Tarsus, and Malmistra, sweep 

His glowing realms ; and to his sway respond 

All Anatolia's tribes, from Trebezond 

Far as the Syrian Gates. His standards float 

And flash athwart Pamphylian shores remote, 

Throng all Meander's many-winding stream, 

And in blue Asian weather blaze supreme 

From ancient cities, proud and populous, 

O'ertopping temples white in Ephesus, 

Sardes, and Smyrna, and among the groves 

The swarthy-faced Laodicean loves, 

Or where, in Philadelphia's teeming squares, 

The turbaned trader spreads his silken wares. 

The glories of old Rome, by all the line 

Of Latin Caesars left to Constantine, 

Blaze in his eyes, to make him glad and great. 

Red Asia doth green Europe emulate 

Which with most lavish hand shall treasures heap 

Within his palace gates. All sails, that sweep 

The waters of the world and every shore, 

Meet in his harbors. Princely Pages pour 

For him the Chian and the Lesbian wine 

In agate cups and vases crystalline, 

Wrought first in Rome, when through the Triumph 

Gate 
Pompeius came from conquering Mithridate. 
For him, on gems and jasper stones is writ 
The Arab wisdom and the Persic wit. 
For him, Greek Monks, in Thracian convents cold, 
Guard Homer's songs on parchments graved with 

gold. 
To nourish this one man a million starve : 
And on his tables kingborn butters carve 
The quadripartite globe : earth, sea, and air 



262 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Are devastated for his daily fare. 
To serve him, twice ten thousand eunuchs stand, 
Who start if he but nod or wave his hand. 
Daily, his Prophet, whom for smiling views 
He pays with Patriarchal revenues. 
Prophesies to him of ease, pleasantness, 
And length of days, glory, and great success 
And realms extended from Euphrates far 
As where the Lebanonian cedars are. 
The grandeur of the East and of the West 
Glows in his galleries. He is potent, blest, 
Supreme. He hath two bloodhounds in a leash. 
Terror and Force : two slaves that serve his wish. 
Pleasure and Pomp. 



II. 

IS SAD. 

Yet, in despite of all. 
The Emperor Isaac sits in his vast hall 
An undelighted man. To him all meat 
Is tasteless, and all sweetnesses unsweet : 
To him all beauty is unbeautiful. 
All pleasures without pleasantness, and dull 
Each day's delights. His women and his wine 
Nauseate the sense they sate not. His lamps shine 
In cedarn chambers, ceiled with gold, as gleam 
Corpse - lights in charnels. Music's strenuous 

stream 
Of pining sounds makes passionatest pain 
About his joyless heart and jaded brain. 
So harsh an echo in the hollowncss 
Within him dwells, that echo to suppress 



SIEGE OF CONSTANTINOPLE. 263 

He, if he could, would make the whole world mute. 
He curses both the flute-player and the flute : 
He strikes bflth lyre and lyrist to the ground : 
The silence is less tolerable than sound. 
For men's pi*aise undeserved, the pain assigned 
To this praised man is scorn of all mankind. 
To please him, Age its reverend form foregoes. 
And wrinkled panders for his public shows 
Invent new vices. At his least of looks 
Manhood forsakes its manliness, and crooks 
Beneath a truculent foot a slavish neck. 
White-fronted Womanhood, if he but beck, 
Wallows in shame, unshamed ; while Youth, to 

charm 
His fancy all the Virtues doth disarm, 
Disgracing all the Graces. And, for this, 
He hates Man, Woman, Youth, and Age. No bliss 
In youthfulnees, no dignity in years. 
Men to this man, by men adored, endears : 
Because his greatness, being of a kind 
That grows from all men's littleness combined. 
Dwells self-condemned among the multitude 
Of voices lifted to proclaim it good. 
And tongues that lick the dust, and knees that fall, 
And backs that cringe before its pedestal. 
Him all these immense means to make him glad, 
Misused immensely, make immensely sad. 

III. 

AND SO IS HIS BROTHER ALEXIUS : W^HO PROPOSES 

Beside the Emperor sits the Emperor's brother : 
Companions, one as joyless as the other. 



264 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

And soul-distempered both : — the first, with what 

He hath ; the second, that he hath it not. 

So, turning to Alexius, with dull eyeS 

By dull eyes met, Isaac the Emperor sighs : 

" How things desired, and had, desii'e destroy ! 

How hard it is, enjoyment to enjoy ! 

Advise us, Brother, how may Pleasure borrow 

Some new disguise to fool the querulous Morrow 

From his foreseen reproval of To-day 1" _ 

Whereto Alexius : 

" I have oft heard say 
That more wild beasts than men be left in Thrace, 
Wlierefore " . . . . 

" The chase ! " the Emperor cries, — " the chase ? 
A happy thought ! Such sleep as nightly flies 
The silken couch where Ease, uneasy, lies, 
Perchance kind Nature charitably drops 
On wearied limbs from perilous mountain-tops. 
And ancient poets say that pure Content 
Was never yet in crowded city pent. 
She, with young Health, her hardy child, they say 
After the shadows of the clouds doth stray. 
Or near the nibbling flocks by grassy dells, 
And, bee-like, feeds at eve in myrtle-bells 
On little drops of dew, deliciously 
As the fair Queen of Pays. I know not, I, 
If that be true : but this I know full well, 
That not in any palace where I dwell, — 
Neither beneath Blachernse's sculptured roofs, 
Nor in Boucoleon, where my horses' hoofs. 
Shod with red gold, strike echoes musical 
From porphyry pavements in a silver stall, — 
This Phantom hath her haunt. We '11 try the. 
woods, 



SIEGE OF CONSTANTINOPLE. 265 

Wild-watered glens, and savage solitudes ; 
And, if she hide with Echo in her cave, 
We '11 rouse lier ; if with Naiads in the wave, 
We'll plunge to find her; though black Death 

should leap 
From out the lair whence she may chance to peep. 
The chase to-morrow morn ! " 



IV. 
A PARTY OF PLEASUKE. 

The morrow morn 
At sunrise, to the sound of fife and horn, 
Byzantium's spacious marble wharves, from stair 
To stair, with broidered cloths, and carpets rare 
Of crimson seamed and rivelled rough with gold, 
A train of swarthy servants spread and fold. 
For the proud treading of Imperial feet, 
Down to tlie granite pedestals ; where meet 
Thick myrtle boughs, and oleanders flush 
The green-lit lyinph. There, little galleys push 
Their golden prows beneath the glossy dark 
Of laurel leaves ; and many a pleasure-bark 
Lolls in the sun, Avith streaming bandrol bright. 
And gorgeous canopies, that shut soft light 
Under soft shadow. Suddenly, shrill sounds 
The brazen music, and the baying hounds 
Drag sideways at the hunter's hand. The drums 
Throb to the screaming trumpet. 

And forth comes 
The Emperor. 

Then his courtiers ; then his slaves. 



a66 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

At sunset, to the wilds beyond the waves 

They came : light revellers armed with bow and 

spear, 
Cinct for the chase, and gay with hunting-gear. 
With silk pavilions gleam the lonely glens, 
Glad of their unaccustomed denizens 
That shout aci'oss dark tracts of starry weather. 
To grassy tufts young grooms, light-laughing, tether 
Sleek-coated steeds. And, where the bubbled 

brooks 
Leap under rushy brinks, white-turbaned cooks 
In silver vessels plunge the purple wine. 
Within the tents, the lucid tables shine 
(Under soft lamps from burning odors lit) 
With sumptuous viands ; and young wassailers sit, 
With heated- faces femininely fair, 
And holiday arms thick-sheathed with jewels rare, 
Babbling of battles. Round the mountain lawn 
The sportive court leans, propped on skins of fawn, 
And quilts thick-velveted of foreign fur, 
Marten, and zibeline, and miniver. 
Brought by the barbarous fair-baired folk that come 
Blithe from the north star, where they have their 

home 
Among the basalt rocks, and starry caves 
Stalactical, and walk upon the waves 
Sandalled with steel. Low-sounding angelots 
Sprinkle light music in among the knots 
Of laughing boys that tinkle cups of gold 
Round heaps of grapes, and rough-globed melons 

cold, 
And purple figs. There, down the glimmering 

green 
Half-naked dance, Avith tossing tambourine, 



SIEGE OF CONSTANTINOPLE. ^lS-j 

Greek girls, Avhose flasht and panting limbs flash 

bare 
Across the purple glooms. 

At dawn, they dare 
The distant crags, and storm the savage woods. 
Then, all day long, through slumbrous solitudes 
riit the sweet ghosts of glad and healthful sounds 
Scattered from fairy horns, and flying hounds : 
And, in and out, among the thickets lone 
The dazzling tumult darts ; as, one by one. 
Through bosk and brake, gay -gilded dragon-flies 
Elash, and are gone. When mellow daylight 

dies. 
Well-pleased, they bear their shaggy burden back 
To the silken camp, adown the mountain track, 
And roast the bristly boar; and quaflfand laugh, 
And sing, and ring the goblets gay ; till, half 
Drowsed, and half roused again by rosy wine. 
They drink, and Avink, and sink at last supine 
On the fresh herbage by their Avatchfires red ; 
While the Avind Avakes the gloomy Avoods o'erhead. 
Unnoticed, and unnoticed, noAv and then, 
Sound distant roarings from the rocky glen. 
So pass the days, the nights ; so pass the Aveeks, 
The months. 



V. 
WHICH ENDS TJNPLEASANTLT. 

At length the Emperor upbreaks 
His wandering camp. Of AA'ood and mountain 
tired, 



268 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Town life he deems once more to be desired. 

Aye, from illusion to illusion tost, 

Men seek new things, to prize things old the 

most. 
Life wastes itself by Avishing to be more, 
And turns to froth and scum whilst bubbling o'er. 
Thus, having all things, save the joy they give, 
The Imperial pauper still is fain to live 
For means of life (which nothing known supplies) 
Dependent on the charity of surprise. 
Sick as he went, he to Byzance returns. 
There, from the warders on the walls he learns 
That his bold brother, whom (while he the chase 
Pursued) himself had charged to hold his place 
Is pleased to keep it ; which the soldiery, bought, 
Are pleased to sanction ; and the people, taught 
That Power in Place is Power where it should be, 
Pleased, or displeased, obedient bow the knee. 
'T is idle knocking at your own house-door 
When your own house-dog knows your voice no 

more, 
riy, or be bitten ! 

Flying all alone 
(Friendless, being powerless), into Macedon, — 
A fugitive from his own guards, the scorn 
Of his tame creatures, turned on, hunted, torn 
By his own bandogs, Isaac, — yesterday 
Lord paramount of half a world, great, gay, 
Glorious, and strong, — to-day, a something less 
Than all earth's common kinds of wretchedness, — 
Fled from the refuse of himself; but, caught, 
And back a prisoner to Byzantium brought. 
They dropped him down a donjeon. 



SIEGE OF CONSTANTINOPLE. 269 

VI. 

OUT OF THE LIGHT, INTO THE DARK. 

Four wet walls ; 
Round which the newt, his sickly housemate, crawls 
To criticise, and, being abhorred, abhor 
What men had crowned, and surnamed Emperor, 
And tremblingly admired. A mouldy crust, 
Some muddy water, once a day down thrust 
Into this putrid pit, still keep aware 
The nameless human thing forgotten there 
That it is wretched, and alive in spite 
Of wretchedness. In nothingness and night 
This nothing lives : cast out of Life, flung back 
By Death, unpitied. And, to make more black 
The blackness that is there to blot it out, 
The new-made Emperor beckoned from the rout 
Of smiling and of crawling creatures, — things 
That do ill-make, and are ill-made by, kings, 
Feeders of infamy, and fed by it, — 
One that most smiled, and lowest crawled, to fit 
His master's humor : unto whom he said : 
"Our Brother hath two eyes yet in his head. 
Worth nothing now to him, worth much to me 
Get them away from him, and thou shalt be 
The gainer by his loss." 

This deed was done. 
They left him in the dark. 

VII, 

ALEXIUS THE YOUNGER PLIES FROM ALEXIUS 
THE ELDER. 

He hath a son, 
This miserable remnant of man's being 



270 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

That lives and hath no life, — unseen, unseeing ! 

God a^ave him both a brother and a son, 

And both men name Alexius. And the one 

Is Emperor now, and reigns, where he once reigned, 

In bright Byzance ; and drains, as he once drained, 

In agate cups, from vases crystalline, 

Careless, the Chian and the Lesbian wine. 

By princes poured : for him, the murcx dies 

In Tyrrhene nets : for him, green Europe vies 

With tawny Asia to extol his state : 

For him those tAvice ten thousand eunuchs wait 

In wliisperous halls : for him, the Thracian spears 

March with the Macedonian mountaineers : 

And him men praise. 

Meanwhile, the other flees, 
'Scaped from his clutch, across the great salt seas. 
And thanks kind heaven's rough winds that blow 

so rude 
Upon his cheek. Among the multitude. 
In seaman's garb, he, gliding secret, found 
A Venice galley for Sicilia bound : 
And, thence, through many lands, for many years, 
Wandering in search of succor from his peers. 
The exiled Prince draws far in foreign climes 
The breath of life ; and broods upon the times. 

VIII. 
AND TRIES HIS FORTUNES AND HIS FRIENDS. 

But Greatness, God keeps fast upon its throne, 
Is ever prompt full greatly to disown 
Greatness by God struck down. 

The Pope is wise, 
Humane, and just. 



SIEGE OF CONSTANTINOPLE. i-ji 

The Pope the Prince first plies 
With the sad story of his sire's distress. 
And " Pax vohis3um ! " sighs His Holiness. 
" Leonem, Optime, mox conculcahis," 
Urges the Prince, " vie quoque liberabis 
De laqueo venantium." 

Whereunto 
The Pontiff: 

" Caelum dedit Domino, 
Hominum autem terramfiUis. 
Schismatics, also, are ye Greeks, I wis.'* 
And still the Prince : 

" Holy Father, stay ! 
The Greek shall to the Latin rite give way. 
If Latin arms the Grecian throne recover." 

" Another time, my son, we '11 talk this over. 
Festina lente. Vale ! " sighs the Pope, 
And waves him off. 

He nurses yet his hope, 
And flees to Germany. 

In Germany 
Philip is Kaiser ; and by craft holds high 
A brow serene above the brawling crowd, — 
Pine-balanced on Fate's pinnacle, and proud. 
And Kaiser Philip hath, in summers fled, 
Irene, sister to Alexius, wed : 
And Kaiser Philip doth Avith deep concern 
The fallen fortunes of his kinsman learn : 
Concerned the more, that he just now can spare 
Nor men, nor money ; since his rival there, 
The lynx-eyed Otho, lurking for a spring. 
Crouches hard by, and troubles everything. 
The times are wild. 



27Z CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Meanwhile, the Red Cross Lords 
(Five hundred sail, and thrice ten thousand swords) 
In Zara halt, the new Crusade to plan. 
And thither wends the prince. 



IX. 
A GREAT MAN. 

Venetian 
Dandalo, Doge elect, and Amiral, 
And Captain, sits in solemn council hall. 
His long beard, lustrous with the spotless snows 
Of more than fourscore winters, amply flows 
To hide the angry jewel, clasped with gold, 
That firmly doth his heavy mantle hold. 
Covered he sits. Above his blind bald brow 
The Ducal bonnet (Tintoret shows ye how) 
Glows like a sunset glory on the scalp 
Of some sublime and thunder-scathed alp. 
And the furred velvets o'er his breastplate fall 
In folded masses, as majestical 
As honors on the manhood of the man. 
Soon may ye tell, if ye his posture scan, 
B}'' the grand careless calmness of the way 
His mantle laps and hangs, that in the play 
Of this world's business he hath ever been 
Chief actor, chosen for each foreground scene ; 
Whence, living is to him a stately thing 
Made easy by long wont of governing. 
Those deep blind eyes for Venice' sake burned 

out! 
Since he, whom Venice feared, most feared, no 

doubt, 



SIEGE OF CONSTANTINOPLE. 273 

Those eyes. The firm fine features of that face, 

In strength so delicate, so strong in grace ! 

All those augustest opposites that mix 

In some superlative oharaR^ter, to fix 

With one strong soul, and grace with one fit frame, 

Man's evanescent elements, became 

Associate ministers to this man's will. — 

The symbols of the valley and the hill : 

The storm, the eagle, and the cataract, — 

Passions, and powers that passionately act ; 

The streamlet, and the vineleaf in the sun, — 

Graces that gracious influence acts upon ; 

Meet in the aspect of that bended head. 

And the great Lion of St. Mark doth spread 

His mighty wings above the baldadiin 

That decks the throne ; mute 'mid the trumpet's 

din. 
Claiming Ms own. 

The smooth and spacious floors 
Are open-porched. Through airy corridors 
You mark the marshalled heralds, stationed calm 
About the broad stone platform, bathed in balm 
Of blissful Aveather, and the warm noon-light. 
Down the sloped hill the streeted city, white. 
Hums populous. The sea-breeze, blowing in. 
Flutters gay flags in harbors Zaratin ; 
Heaving on balustraded ramparts wide. 
And at high casements, thronged and balconied, 
Thick streams of many-colored silken scarves. 
And all about the warmed quays and wharves. 
The sea is strewn with snowy sails, by swarms 
Of high-decked galleys, from whose prows the 

arms 
Of heroes hang, and low-hulled palanders. 
VOL. I. 18 



274 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

X. 

AND SOMK NOTABLE MEN. 

• 

Meanwhile, among bis council-keeping Sers, 
The great Doge greets from his unenvied throne 
The Barons, striding inwards, one by one. 
From that bright background, and the golden noon. 
Like banded forms on Byzant frescos. Soon 
The hall is crammed. Below the high dais sit 
Peers, princes, prelates, paladins. 

To wit : — 
The conqueror of Asti, Boniface, 
Marquis of Montferrat ; who with his mace 
Can brain a bull. When Theobald, their chief. 
Count of Champagne, left Christendom in grief. 
Dying untimely, and dispute arose 
About the headship, him the Barons chose 
(Favored by fame, though foreign to the Franks) 
As Dux and Daysman of the Red Cross Ranks. 
Baldwin ; whose dreams are of a diadem. 
Since last the Turks have tugged Jerusalem 
From Lusignan ; content to wait meanwhile 
As Count of Flanders, till his fortunes smile : 
Him, also, Hainault's hardy race respect, 
Scion of Charlemagne by line direct, 
And cousin to the Royalty of France. 
Beside him, having broken his last lance 
At Bruges, in that great tourney, where the twain 
First crossed their shields, Count Henry, with his 

train 
Of Flanders knights. Sir Guy, the Gascon ; grim, 
Gray, gaunt, as on the Pyrenean rim 
His own three cloudy border castles are, 



SIEGE OF CONSTANTINOPLE. 275 

Held fast for his "White Heiress of Navarre, 
Daughter of good King Sance, surnamed The Wise, 
Blanche with the golden hair and holy eyes. 
Whose husband, Theobald, last year expired 
In the fond arms of Friar Fulk, admired 
By weeping Barons ; but bewailed the most 
By that stout servant of the Red Cross Host, 
GeofFroy of Ville-Hardou'in, Lord of Bar 
And Arcis, and the hillside country far 
As Troyes, and both the blossom-bearing banks 
Of Aube ; Ambassador of all the Franks, 
And Marshal of Champagne. Miles, Lord of Brie. 
Geoffroy de Joinville. And those Gautiers three 
Of Vignory, Montbeliard, and Brienne. 
Roger de Marche. Bernard de Somerghen. 
William, surnamed The Red ; Lord Advocate 
Of Arras, Seignieur of Bethune ; whose straight, 
Strong amber locks, Uke haum, in heaps half 

smother 
His heavy brow. And Conon, his boy-brother. 
Renier de Trit. And Jaen, the Castclain 
Of Bruges. And Dreux, the Seignieur of Beau- 
rain. 
Baldvvin of Beauvoir. Anseau de Kaieu. 
Huges de Belines. Eustache de Cantelieu. 
With shields slung frontwise over chain haber- 
geons, 
Gautier de Stombe, and Renier de Monz. 
Gray Gervais and young Heme of Castel, 
Jakes of Avesnnes, Bernard of Monstriiel, 
Robert of Malvoisin. And Nicolas 
De Mai Hi. Guy de Coucy, he that was 
The son of Adela. Those brothers two, 
Stephen and Jeifry, offspring of Rotroii, 



276 CHE ONI CLE S AND CHARACTERS. 

And Counts of Perclie. St. Pol, to prove whose 

power 
His daughter Elzahet had brought in dower 
To Chatillon two counties. Mathieu, Lord 
Of Montmorency. Trifling with the sword 
He leans on, Piere, tlie new-made Cardinal 
Of Capua ; who was the first of all 
To take the cross. And he of Trainel, learned 
Bishop of Troves, Garniers ; who back returned 
Anon from spoiled Byzance, " with nothing less ''^ 
(Quoth Alberic) "to grace his diocess 
Than the true scull, from Grecian monks reclaimed, 
Of Philip the Apostle. Near him (uamed 
By Gunther magnce sanctitatis vir) 
Neuelon ; " on whom the Pope was pleased confer 
Thessalonica's new archbishopric 
Some few years afterwards," writes Alberic ; 
Bishop, meanwhile, of Soissons ; whose grandsire, 
Gerard, the Prankish chroniclers admire 
As " Castelain of Laon, and noble prince " ; 
Returned from Rome, well pleased, a fortnight 

since 
"With absolution won from Innocent 
Por Zara captured, to the discontent 
Of those that sought to break the Red Cross ranks, 
This prelate sits, requited by the thanks 
Of pious souls, in comfortable chat 
With those of Bethlehem and Halberstadt, 
Receiving praise of Pulk himself; the Monk 
Of Neuilly; who, when English Richard shrunk, 
And Prankish Philip, from his fierce appeal, 
Stirred up their Barons to a proper zeal; 
The Boanerges of the new crusade ; 
A lean sharp-faced enthusiast, with shorn head 



SIEGE OF CONSTANTINOPLE. 277 

And starry eyes, — no hawk's, from Norway 

brought. 
More vivid, or more vigilant, — his thought 
So flashes through them 'neath his cowl's gray 

serge. 
De Montfort; whom the Pope proclaims "God's 

scourge," 
Though styled "Hell*s Hangman" by the Albi- 

geois^, 
And "Bloody Simon." Louis, Count of Blois 
And Chartre ; the crownless kinsman of the kings 
Of France and England, whose high hnmor springs 
From blood twice royal. Peter of Courtenay ; 
Whose sires upon the sons of kings, men say. 
Imposed their name and arms, " three torteaux, or," 
"Which Godfrey, Bouillon's famous chieftain bore 
In Christ's first battle for His sepulchre. 

Not the least warlike of these warriors were 

Those Bishops four, of Soissons, Bethlehem, 

And Halberstadt. In conference with them 

That strong-limbed Legate, loved by Innocent, 

And (thanks to skill in arms with learning blent) 

Acre's Elect Archbishop, sits beside 

Loces' stout Abbot. Ugo, the one-eyed. 

The Lord of Forli, leaning on his spear 

And whispering to the gray Gonfalonier 

0' the Holy See. Pons of Sienna, lord 

Of empty coffers and a hungry sword 

At all men's service, trusting from the sack 

Of pagan towns to take good fortune back. 

John of Brienne; whose daughter Frederic 

Made Queen of Naples later ; Almeric, 

His wife's grandfather, gave him from the grave 



278 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Jerusalem, still later ; gray-haired, brave, 

And, though untitled, honored, him men call 

The noblest Christian warrior of them all. 

Guy, Abbot of Sernay and Val ; anon 

Made by the Pope Bishop of Carcasson ; 

Suspected leader of the malcontents. 

Henry of Orm ; whose Brabant shield presents 

Argent, three chevrons, gules. Roger de Cuick, 

Lord only of a little bailiwick. 

Gamier of Borland ; whose assaults, when Hell 

Stirred him against the Church, a miracle 

Defeated ; for the blood of God His Son, 

To Avarn him back, did on the rood down-run, 

Seen at St. Goar, of Treves, upon the E.hein ; 

Sister to Godfried, that of Eppestcin 

Was Baron (and good Bishop Siegfried's brother) 

His mother was ; his sister, too, was mother 

0' the other Siegfried that of Ratisbon 

Was Bishop. Ogier de Sanchcron. 

Jaen de Friaise. Gautier de Gadonville. 

Guillaume de Sains, and Oris of the Isle, 

With gray Menasses : and stout-limbed Machaire, 

St. Menehould's Lord : and Eenaud de Dampiere. 

Mathieu of Valincourt : and Eudes of Ham : 

And Piere of Amiens, called The Wolf; whose dam 

Was nameless Madge. Haimon of Pesmes, and 

Guy; 
Eudes of Champlite, and Hugues of Cormory. 
Eustache le Marchis, with his helmet on, 
And, undisguised, his quilted gamboison, 
Eret by no hauberk, half-way to his knee. 
Villers, and Aimory of Villerey, 
Peter of Braiquel, Eudo of the Vale, 
Eochfort, and Ardelliers, and Montmirail. 



SIEGE OF CONSTANTINOPLE. 



279 



Pietro Albert! ; who, as simple Ser 
Of Venice, boasts his power to confer 
Titles, he deems less grand because his sire 
Helped Dominic, the Doge, to get back Tyre 
(That famous town Agenor built, say some) 
From those two former foes of Christendom, 
The Egyptian Kailif, and that Soldau damned 
Who in Damascus kept his dungeons crammed 
"With Christian souls : he fingers his gold chain, 
And, with a smile of careless gay disdain, 
Folds his patrician robe across his knees. 
Less grave, and chatting too much at his ease, 
Pataleone Barbo ; whose renown. 
Scarce older than his senatoi'ial gown. 
Folks yet dispute. Francesco Contarini : 
And that famed Ser, Thorn aso Morosini : 
Lorenzo Gradenigo : Giammaria 
Francesco Gritti, famed in Apulia : 
Daniele Gozzi : Jacopo Pisani : 
And Giambattista Ercole Griraani; 
Noble Venetians. 

Side by side they sit, 
Gray faces in grave circle. Could I fit 
This rough-edged rhyme-work into finer frames 
For their smooth- vo welled, voluble, sweet names. 
No wrong done, no wrench to them, bruise or 

wound, — 
As when the torturer to his engine bound 
The melting-limbed deliciousness of some 
Dear lady, doomed to luckless martyrdom, — 
Friends, you should know their noblenesses all 
Henceforth forever, and to mind recall 
By special name each serious face of them, 



28o CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Pale, 'mid its pomp of purple robe and gem, 
Forth peering over every fur-trimmed vest- 
Search ye the Golden Volume for the rest. 
You whom fate favors, whosoe'er ye be. 
With leave, once lavished, long denied to me, 
To walk, a living man, in Venice' streets, 
Where ghost meets ghost, and spirit spirit greets, 
Among the doves and bells, and bounteous things 
Strewn 'twixt the sky that clings, the sea that 

clings 
To the sweet city, — 'twixt gloom, glory, 'twixt 
Life, death, in maze inextricably mixt 
Of gorgeous labyrinth. 

Leaning by the wall, 
Near the great doorway, fair-haired, blue-eyed, tall, 
Behind St. Pol (who tunes, to pass the time, 
Humming unheard, an amorous Norman rhyme 
To the slow music of a Latin hymn) 
Bussy d'Herboise, the frank Prench knight, whose 

trim 
And sober surcoat, of no special hue, 
Attracts, by seeming to evade, the view. 
Ulric of Thun : and Charles of Aquitaine : 
Eberhard, Count of Ti*aun, and castelain 
Of the Imperial fortress of Pavia : 
Gian the Unnamed ; for whom his mother Pia 
Porgot to choose a father ere she died, 
Being embarrassed by a choice too wide ; 
Martin the fighting Abbot ; whose priest's gown 
Scarce hides the corselet which in Basil town 
He bought last month, to join the northern knights 
Prom windy burgs sea-beat on Baltic heights, 
Pair-meadowed manors, and gray castles cold. 



. SIEGE OF CONSTANTINOPLE. 281 

'Mid blue Bohemian woods, on windy wold 
In the dark Hartz, or Salzburg's mountains bleak. 
Henry of Ofterdingen, who the week 
Before, came bringing, for his part, indeed, 
Only his lute, his lance, his squire, his steed. 
Ludwig the Ironhead, of Falkenstein : 
Ulric the Hawk ; whose mother Adeline 
Priests say the Pope will canonize next year : 
And Ottoker, men call the Blear-eyed Bear : 
The Duke of Styria, leaning on his shield, — 
A milk-white panther-rampant, on a field 
Vert : Witikind, Carinthia's Duke, some say 
The bastard son of Bilstein's Countess gay, 
Who, helped by some sleek nameless Levantine, 
Contrives to keep alive the ducal line. 

Only the constellations and the suns 

Are called by kingly names : the millions 

Of lesser lights, in charts celestial, 

Are noticed merely by a numeral. 

These, but the special stars that strongest flame 

In foremost firmament. No need to name 

The many more, less noble, or less known, 

All known, all noble ; all content to own 

A greater than their greatest in that great 

Gray-headed, blind, old man, who sits sedate 

And serious in their midst ; the central soul 

Of this brute power which he doth all control. 

Shaping the many-minded multitude 

To oneness ; both the worthless and the good. 

The weak, the strong. For he is born of those 

High seldom spirits that of all earth's shows 

Suck out the substance, and make all men's wills 

The agents of their own. 



282 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

XI. 
LB VALET DE CONSTANTINOPLE. 

The trumpet shrills 
Thrice in the outer porch, with brazen din, 
Thrice in the vestibule, and thrice within 
The vaulted aisles. 

Then, through the clanging arch, 
The gaunt, red-crossed, steel-shirted heralds march. 
Then silence- 
Then, a humming, and a sound 
Of metal clinked upon the marble ground, 
And in between those six that, either side 
The columned entry, gleam in tabards pied, 
Bare-headed, with no blazon on his breast, 
Comes the discrowne'd Heir of all the East, 
Alexius Angelus, the last in line 
Of those Greek heirs to Christian Constantine, 
The Byzant Emperors. 

Who seeks for aid 
Must show how service sought can be repaid. 
Therefore the Prince, as soon as on bent knee 
He gave the Doge the Kaiser's letter, — free 
To plead his cause before the assembled knights 
Of Christendom, and urge his wrongs and rights, — 
Pledges himself to pay, upon his crown. 
Two hundred thousand marks of silver down : 
To join the Egyptian Pilgrims : and make cease 
The age-long schism dividing Rome and Greece : 
To find and furnish at his proper cost. 
For Christendom, and to the Red Cross Host, 
For one whole year, ten thousand mounted men. 



SIEGE OF CONSTANTINOPLE. 283 

Soldier and horse : and, ever after then, 
A company of fifty knights, — a Band 
Vowed to the service of the Holy Land. — 
" Le Valet de Constantinople," states 
The Frankish Chronicler, whose pen relates 
What his eye witnessed, since himself was there, 
"Li cuers des genz esmeut, mainte lerme amere 
Moult durement plorant." Thus, with filial tears, 
Comment and argument, to lay their fears 
And lift their valors, — now, with poured appeal 
To sacred Justice and the Public Weal, 
Now, hinting novel outlets to be won 
To teeming Trade, — until the set of sun. 
Full passionately pleading, spake the Prince. 

XII. 
A BLIND MAN SEES FAR. 

And all this time. Doge Dandalo, — for, since 

His sight was saved from surfaces and shows 

That grossly intercept the sight of those 

Who, seeing many things, see nothing through, 

He with serene, unvext, internal view 

Beheld all naked causes and effects 

In that clear glass whereon the soul reflects, 

Unshaked by Time's distraught and shifting glare, 

Events and acts, — while passionately there 

The Prince stood pleading, saw, as in a trance. 

Constructed out of golden circumstance. 

The steadfast image of a far-off thing 

Glorious, and full of wonder .... 

Clear upsi^ring 
Into the deep blue sky the golden spires 



284 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

That top the milkwhite towers, like windless fires : 
O'er gardened slopes, slant shafts of plumy palm 
Lean seaward from hot hillsides breathing balm : 
Green, azui-e, and vermilion, fret with gold. 
Blaze the domed roofs in many a globed fold 
Of splendor, set with silver studs and disks : 
And, underneath, the solemn obelisks 
And sombre cypress stripe with blackest shade 
Sea-terraces, by Summer overlaid 
With such a lavish sunlight as o'erflows 
And drops between thick clusters of wild rose 
And clambering spurweed, down the sleepy walls 
To the broad base of granite pedestals 
That prop the gated ramparts, round about 
The wave-girt city ; whence flow in and out 
The wealth and wonder of the Orient World : 
And, high o'er all this populous pomp, unfurled 
In the sublime dominions of the sun. 
And fanned by floating Bosphorus breezes, won 
To waft to Venice each triumphant bark, 
The winged and warrior Lion of St. Mark ! 
All this he saw beforehand : so foreknew 
What last great deed God kept for him to do : 
Which, being apprehended, was half done 
In his deep soul, though yet divined by none. 
So when the Prince had ended, and the hall 
Began to buzz, and those flusht faces all 
To turn their glances on the Doge (because 
He was the inventor of their wills) no pause 
For farther thought he needed : but smoothed 

down 
Across his knee one crease of his calm gown, 
And answered, very quietly, " It is good," 
And rose. 



SIEGE OF CONSTANTINOPLE. 285 

XIII. 
QTJOT HOMINES TOT SENTENTIiE. 

But then began that multitude 
To murmur. And some said, " The thing is Vv'ild, 
And not to be endeavored." Others smiled, 
Phiyed silent with the pommels of their swords, 
And sided with the loudest. Many lords 
And many princes drew themselves aside, 
And, blaming all the rest, with ruffled pride, 
Took ship and so departed home again, 
Gnawing their beards and hinting high disdain. 
So was there great division of men's minds. 
And tempest worse than of the waves and winds 
When tides are equinoctial. It appears 
The priests first took each other by the ears. 
Arguing if war be lawful, waged as well 
On Christian sinner, as on infidel, 
Bid text trip text, and' learning learning trample. 
The unlearned laics followed their example. 
Those Abbots stout of Loces and of Val 
With Latin curses evangelical 
Denounced each other. Borland then took sail. 
And left the camp, followed by Montmirail. 
Froieville, and Belmont, and Vidame as well. 
And with them the boy Plenry of Castel, 
Went, swearing on the Holy Gospels Four 
To come again, but never came they more ; 
Nor spared God's wrath the recreant fugitives. 
Of whom five hundred Barons lost their lives. 
Sunk in one ship, and hundreds more beside. 
Slaughtered by peasants in Sclavonia, died. 
And daily still, some brawling baron went, 



286 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Clinking his arms and clamoring discontent 
Whereon he in his burgs and towers would brood. 

The Doge said very quietly, " It is good." 

Now, of the remnant of the Eed Cross Ranks 
The most part were Venetians, the rest Franks. 



SIEGE OF CONSTANTINOPLE. 287 



PAET II. 

" Li bruis fu mult granz par le dedenz, et le message s'en 
tornent, & vienent k la porte, et montent sur les chevaux. 
Quant ils fui'ent de fors la porte, ni ot celui ne fust mult liez 
et ne fu mie granz mervoille, qui il erent mult di grant peril 
escampe : que mult se tint k pou, que il ne furent tuit mort, 



pris. 



Geoffroy de Ville-Hardouin, c. 113, p. 



I. 

THE EMPEROR MAKES A PROCLAMATION. 

On all the walls and gateways of the town 
Of great Byzantium, passing up and down, 
Men read this placard : — 

" IN THE emperor's NAME, 

" Great, gracious, just, and clement ! let his fame 

Endure, whom may God bless and keep ! Amen. 

People ! 

" It is notorious to all men 
That one Alexius, son of Isaac (late 
Emperor of the East ; whom, by just fate 
And the high hand of Heaven dethroned, our grace 
And clemency, ill-merited, did place 
In safety, suffering him to live) hath stirred 
By treasonable act and traitrous word 
Against our state a barbarous armament 
Of Latins, chiefly out of Venice sent 
And France ; pretexting in the misused name 



288 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Of Christendom, by them deceived, the same 
High cause which our own arms have heretofore 
Not slightly served, in famous fields of yore. 
Now therefore, having called about our throne 
Our loyal liegemen, we to all make known 
That we have set our price upon' the head 
(Six, if alive, three thousand, byzants, dead) 
Of this Alexius Angelus, self-styled 
Prince and Augustus, falsely, since exiled 
And forfeit of his life, and titles all. 

"By order of our Lord Imperial 
and Paramount, his servant, 

"MUZUFER." 

And after this, the city was astir 

With rumors ; and, from ramparts, wharves, and 

streets 
"Wild whisperers watched the coming of the fleets. 

II. 

AND RECEIVES THE AMBASSADORS. 

When the Ambassadors of "Venice, Prance, 
And the Allied Crusade, bearing the lance 
And lion of St. Mark, the gonfalon 
O' the Holy See, the sword, and habergeon, 
And mace of Charlemagne, with heralds came 
Before the Emperor, and the amber flame 
Of the great Oriental sunlight flowed 
Through the long-gallcried hall, and hotly glowed 
About the pillared walls with purple bright. 
They were at first as men whom too much light 
Staggers, and blinds ; so much the inopinatc 
Magnificence and splendor of his state 
Amazed them. 



SIEGE OF CONSTANTINOPLE. 289 

At the Emperor's right band, 
Tracing upon the floor with snaky wand 
Strange shapes, was standing his astrologer 
And mystic, Ishmael the son of Shur, 
A swarthy, lean, and melancholy man. 
With eyes in caverns, an Arabian. 
Who seemed to notice nothing, save his own 
Strange writing on the floor before the throne. 
At the Emperor's feet, half-naked, and half-robed 
With rivulets of emeroldes, that throbbed 
Green fire as her rich breathings billowed all 
Their thrilled and glittering drops, crouched 

Jezraal, 
The fair Egyptian, with strange-colored eyes 
Pull of fierce change and somnolent surprise. 
She, with upslanted shoulder leaning couched 
On one smooth elbow, sphinx-like, calm, and 

crouched. 
Though motionless, yet seemed to move, — its 

slim 
Fine slope so glidingly each glossy limb 
Curved on the marble, melting out and in 
Her gemmy tunic, downward to her thin 
Clear ankles, ankleted Avith dull pale gold. 
Thick gushing through a jewelled hoop, down 

rolled, 
All round her, rivers of dark slumbrous hair. 
Sweeping her burnisht breast, sharp-slanted, bare, 
And sallow shoulder. This was the last slave 
The Emperor loved. No sea-nymph in a cave 
Ever more indolently dreaming lay. 
Lulled by low surges, on a summer's day. 
The midnight theft of some Bohemian witch, 
Stol'n from a Moslem mother, when the rich 
VOL. I. 19 



290 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Turk camps in Carmel fled before the cross 

That lured the remnant left by Barbaross 

To Suabia's Duke, was Jezraal. Four black 

dwarves 
Like toads, green-turbaned, and in scarlet scarves. 
The four familiai's of the fair witch-queen. 
With fans of ostrich feathers, dipt in sheen 
Arabian dj'es and reddened at the rims, 
Stood I'ound her, winnowing cool her coiled limbs. 
And, behind these, on either side the throne. 
Stand two tame jackals to Apollyon ; 
One, in his right, across his shoulder props 
An axe, and from his left a loose cord drops, 
And he is nameless, and his trade is death. 
The other, whose silk vest flows loose beneath 
The small enamelled dagger at his hip. 
Smiles, with a restless finge^' at the lip ; 
Sleek, subtle, beauteous, bloodless minister 
Of evil ; and men call him Muzufer ; 
And when he smiles the people are afraid, 
And hide themselves. And smiling is his trade. 

The Ambassadors of the Red-crossed Allies 

Spake to the Emperor upon this wise : 

" The supreme Pontiff of the Holy See 

Of Rome, in concert with the sovereign, free 

Republic of St, Mark, the Chevisance, 

And gentlemen of Germany and France 

In arms, — by us, Charles, Count of Aquitaine, 

Eberhard, lord of Traun, and Castelain 

Of the Imperial fortress of Pavia, 

Lorenzo Gradenigo, Giammaria 

Francisco Gritti, Jacopo Pisani, 

And Giambattista Ercole Grimani, 



SIEGE OF CONSTANTINOPLE. 291 

Noble Venetians, — to Alexius, styled 

And titled, falsely, Emperor, who despoiled 

His brother of the purple and high place 

Of power, to him allotted by God's grace : — 

Eender to Csesar what is Caesar's own. 

And unto God good deeds : restore the throne. 

By thee usurped with sacrilegious sword, 

To Isaac, thine hereditary lord 

And master : and so live, forgiven of men 

And God. But if thou dost not this, know then 

Thou art accurst, and anathematized." 

The Egyptian lifted her large eyes, surprised. 

And laughed. The scarlet-clad huge-handed man 

That stood behind, with axe and cord, began, 

Under a snarling lip, to gnash white teeth. 

The other monster half out of its sheath 

Lifted his dagger, with ^e self-same smile 

Wherewith he had been listening all this while. 

The Emperor glanced at Jezraal, and said, 

" Yon young French Envoy hath a comely head. 

Answer him, girl." 

The glittering witch leaped up 
With a shrill laugh, and seized a golden cup. 
And shook her sparkling tunic to green flame. 
And, hand on haunch, made answer : 

" In the name 
Of Satan, and the Powers that be ! Who saith 
To Life, ' Live not : give up thy place to Death ' ? 
Who calleth to the Sun, ' Come down : make way 
For Darkness ' ? Who demandeth of the Day 
To give his golden palace to the Night 1 
Life answers, ' Fool ! I live.' And, saith the Light, 
' Thou fool ! I shine.' Who cannot keep his 
throne 



292 



CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 



May lose it : whiles he hath it, 'tis his own. 
And, were I Emperor, I would answer, ' Lo ! 
Upon all hills that rise, all waves that flow, 
And on the lives and souls of men, is east 
The shadow of my purple. Heaven is vast, 
And Hell is deep. And God, if God there be, 
Doth hide himself to leave this world to me. 
Mankind is my tame dog ; and, knowing it. 
Fawns on me ; on whose collar there is writ, 
Sum CcEsaris. The Avorld is but a wheel 
That draws my chariot. I hold fast my heel 
Upon the neck of my cringed vassal. Time. 
Fear is my slave : my household creature. Crime. 
The Lords of Hell are my retainers. When 
I frown or smile, all Valor dies in men, 
Virtue in women : men and women are mine, 
Body and soul : their blood is in my wine, 
The lion croucheth on my palace floors ; 
And Life and Death arc suppliants in my doors. 
The bolted thunder hangetli on my walls, 
And, lo ye, when I nod the thunder falls ! ' '* 

" The thunder hangeth in the hand of God," 

Lorenzo cried ; " and falleth at his nod. 

See ye, from j'onder golden pole, that props 

The baldachin his burnisht barb o'ertops. 

The many-colored silken streamers fall 1 

The same hand, from the same silk, fashioned all, 

Nor hath the stuff with purple tinct imprest 

Essential value more than all the rest. 

Great Csesar Avith his fortunes to admit 

Death opes his doors no wider by a whit 

Than for the beggar buried in a ditch. 

The dust is brother to the dust. Seeing which, 



SIEGE OF CONSTANTINOPLE. 293 

And that alone the actions of the just 

Are lords forever, and defy the dust, 

Repent ! spread sackcloth on thy former sin. 

For, by the Living Lord that listeneth in 

The everlasting silences on high, 

I swear — beneath the patience of the sky, 

Beneath yon gorgeous canopy, beneath 

Yon golden roof, though incensed by the breath 

Of prostituted slaves like this, and throned 

In pomp, and girt with power, and crowned, and 

zoned 
With the imperial purple of the East, 
Alexius is a miscreant, and a beast. 
And God shall say to him, as to that other 
Whom he resembles, ' Cain, where is thy brother? * 
But thou, dread degradation of the form 
Of woman, — what art thou, strange glittering 

worm ? 
What public mother, to what sire unknown. 
Spawned thee, shamed creature of a shameless 

throne. 
That dost with insult answer Christendom ? " 

The Egyptian sprang, then stood death-white. A 

hum 
As of a hornet's nest, all round the hall, 
Responded to her gesture, augural 
Of wrath. She stood, a sorceress brewing storm : 
The jewels crackled on her stiffening form : 
Her wild unholy eyes flashed hate : the breath, 
Draw^ sharply in, hissed through her sparkling 

teeth 
Close clenched. But her rude lord, with laughter 

rough. 



294 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Waved to her a careless hand, and called, " Enough ! 
Crouch." And she crouched : then, like a beaten 

child, 
Whimpered upon the marble. Dryly smiled 
The Emperor ; and to Muzufer he said, 
" The old Venice Envoy hath a reverend head, 
Answer thou him." But he, " Great Lord, I have 
Not any knowledge nor experience, save 
(What much, I doubt, delights not these grave 

Sers) 
A little, of the various characters 
Of wines and women. Nor indeed have I 
Enough of Latinized theology 
To answer, text for text, this reverend man." 

The Emperor laughed. " Speak thou, Arabian, 
That knowest all things." Then the Arab said : 

" Nebuchadnezzar reigned : and he is dead. 
When Babylon was mistress of the world. 
He was the lord of Babylon. Death furled 
His face in dark : and him the world forgot. 
Greek Alexander reigned : his bones do rot. 
This little earth was smaller than his state, 
He held it in his hand. Men called him Great. 
At last God blew his life out like a spark, 
And he became a darkness in the dark. 
To Alaric the eagle gave his wing. 
His claw the lion, and the snake her sting. 
His clarions, blown upon the seven hill-tops, 
Shook the round globe. Grasses the wild 'goat 

crops 
Grow over him. A little sickness made 
Of all he was nothinsr but dust and shade. 



SIEGE OF CONSTANTINOPLE. 295 

Attila I'eigned. The strong Huns worshipped him. 
All mankind feared him. He was great and grim, 
Kome grovelled at his feet. One night he ceased. 
The worms upon his flesh have held high feast. 
Behind the hosts of suns and stars, behind 
The rushing of the chariots of the wind, 
Behind all noises and all shapes of things, 
And men, and deeds, behind the blaze of kings, 
Princes and paladins and potentates, 
An immense solitary Spectre waits. 
It has no shape : it has no sound : it has 
No place : it has no time : it is, and was, 
And will be : it is never more, nor less, 
Nor glad, nor sad. Its name is Nothingness. 
Power walketh high : and Misery doth crawl : 
And the clepsydra drips : and the sands fall 
Down in the hourglass : and the shadows sweep 
Around the dial : and men wake, and sleep. 
Live, strive, regi-et, forget, and love, and hate. 
And know it not. This spectre saith, ' I wait.' 
And at the last it beckons, and they pass. 
And still the red sands fall within the glass : 
And still the shades around the dial sweep : 
And still the water-clock doth drip and weep : 
And this is all." 

"Yea," said the Emperor, " then 
If thus it fare with the world's mighty men, 
And there be no more greatness in the dust. 
How fares it with the men the world calls just, 
Who lived not for the body but the mind, 
Augustin, Plato, Socrates 1 " 

" Behind 
The minjrled multitude of mortal deeds 



296 CnRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Called good or ill, behind all codes and creeds, 
All terrors, all desires, all hopes, all fears, 
Behind all laughter, and behind all tears," 
The Arabian said, " this shapeless Spectre waits. 
And no man knoweth what it meditates," 

Trowning, he turned, and fashioned as before. 
With snaky wand, upon the poi'phyry floor 
Strange figures, cube, and pentagram, and sphere. 
The Emperor mused ; then murmured in the car 
Of Muzufer some word whereto replied 
That minister : " Let your Majesty decide. 
Yet I have heard what Emperoi's decree 
Heaven doth approve ; whereby it seems to me 
This maxim may be broadly understood. 
That for the good o' the state all means are good." 

Thereat the Emperor rose ; and from his face 
Suddenly all its smiling ceased, — gave place 
Forthwith to hate too deadly for disguise ; 
As when through sultry, seeming-empty skies 
Suddenly rushes, wrapt in glare and gloom, 
The blood-red darkness of the strong simoom. 
With lips that labored 'neath the weight and strain 
Of wrath, he cried : 

" You — Sir of Aquitaine, 
You — Sir of Traun — whose title we ignore. 
Whose master styles himself an Emperor, 
And is , ... a puny Suabian Duke ! You — all, 
Of Venice — whose nobility we call, 
Like its new banner and filched patron both. 
Of doubtful origin, and upstart growth ! 
This is our answer to your host, and you : — 
Come ye as peaceful pilgrims, to pursue 



SIEGE OF CONSTANTINOPLE. 



297 



A pious journey to Jerusalem ? 
Then, nor your course we check, nor zeal condemn ; 
Then, market free, and passage fair, expect; 
Our wealth shall aid you, and our power protect. 
But come ye here, in hostile arms arrayed, 
The sanctuary of Empire to invade ? 
Tlien, — mark me ! as I live .... as I that speak 
Am Emperor both of Roman and of Greek, 
(Mark me !) I swear, — and swear it by the line 
Of godlike Caesars all since Constantine, — 
Your myriads, were they ten times what they be, 
Our scorn shall sweep from land, and sweep from 

sea. 
As easily as yon light fan could sweep 
A swarm of midges from the unvext sleep 
Of our dark-eyelashed lemaa. And, in pledge 
Of power to smite, — not less than we allege, 
Our answer prompt to your barbarian crew 
Shall be your heads .... the head of each of you ! 
Yours — Sir of Aquitaine ! yours — Sir of Traun ! 
Fresh trophies for each gate of yonder town ! 
And yours — Venetian ! . . . . yours ! and yours ! 

and yours ! 
Ho, in the gallery, there ! Bar all the doors. 
No foot budge hence till we be satisfied ! " 

" Disloyal lord ! . . . . Enough ! " Lorenzo cried. 
" For us, — our response shall, in thunder-falls. 
Be heard anon round yonder doomed walls. 
And rained in blood — less innocent than ours. 
Ay, and less pure ! — round yonder traitorous tow- 
ers. 
For thee, — mock emperor, true barbarian ! 
Whose image, stamped in the alloy of man, 



29 8 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Sullies the wealth that buys obedience base 
To Treason trembling on a throne, — disgrace 
Would be grace wasted. But hark .... ye, his 

slaves ! 
Who falls on us must fall on iron staves. 
'Ware, the first traitor here, that lifts his hand ! 
Christ and his cause about this banner stand. 
For every hair upon our heads, a host 
In arms, for Justice wronged, shall claim the cost. 
'Ware, the first slave that stands across our path 
To yonder door ! This winged lion hath 
(For God, the giver of all strength to men, 
Shall smite the smiter now, who smote him then) 
The self-same strength between the wings of him 
That once, between the winged Cherubim, 
In Ashdod smote ;' .orping Dagon down, 
And shattered in the dust his idol crown, 
Before the captived but triumphant Ark, 
Now — God defend the Right, and good St. Mark ! " 

Forthwith outfurled, in resonant circle shone 
Round those eight knights the rustling gonfalon. 
And, through a hundred hands with hired swords 
To murder purchased, marched the Red Cross 

Lords 
Majestic, unmolested, down the hall. 
Strode through the startled Guards Imperial, 
And from the treacherous threshold passed in scorn. 
Alexius, with white lips, and garment torn. 
Screamed, " Cowards ! slaves ! Is Csesar disobeyed 1 
Traitors ! a hundred byzants for each head 
Of those eight chui'ls ! Up, bloodhounds ! or the 

whip 
Shall mend the mongrel valor that lets slip 
An Emperor's quarry ! " 



SIEGE OF CONSTANTINOPLE. 299 

But the Eight meanwhile. 
Spurring full speed, had passed the embattled pile 
Of the great gate. Foiled, as they forward sprang, 
Down in the gap the shrill portcullis rang. 



300 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 



PAKT III. 

" ojv ixkv yap ^etpas aTreVejoiev, S)v Se SaKTvXovg oj? a/XTre'Awv 
Trepte/cetpe KAaSov?, tlvQ)V 8e woSag a<{)ripy]Ke, noWol 6e ^etpiiov 
Koi oc^SaAju.wj' vneaTfjaav aTip-\)(Tiv. r)(Tav 6' ot /cat 6(l>0a\ixhv 
Se^ihv Koi TToSa evu)VviJiov k^yjjxiuiVTO, kol av TOVvavTiov ine- 
TTOvOeio-av eVepoi." — Nicetas Chon. de And. Comn. lib, i, 
p. 374. 

I. 

HOW THE EMPEROR PICKED UP WHAT THE DEVIL 
LET FALL. 

Thereafter, met for mischief and debate 

Morose, within a certain intricate 

Small chamber, planned for plotting, with slant 

glooms 
In glooms, beyond a maze of banquet-rooms, 
Muzufer and his liege lord up and down 
Were pacing leopard-like. Meanwhile, the town 
Muttered outside the porphyry porches all 
Like souls perturbed in Purgatorial 
Abysses paced by lamentable throngs ; 
As to and fro i' the streets with surly songs 
Among his myrmidons the headsman strode, 
Beckoning in turn from each condemned abode 
(So to appease the Emperor's discontent 
Of his own creatures for that morn's event) 
Some terror-stricken wretch whose mangled limb — 
Lopped foot or hand — must serve ere dark to trim 
Arch, column, obelisk, and cornice, where 
Already sallow-visaged slaves prepare 
The midnight banquet, o'er great gardens gay 



SIEGE OF CONSTANTINOPLE. 301 

With placid statues, and the luminous play 
Of perfumed waters, leaping pure upon 
Lipped layers large of black obsidian, 
Or alabaster filled with filmy light. 
For 'mid his Coui;t the Emperor sups to-night. 
And in that chamber dim where these debate, 
O'er the low bronzen door elaborate, 
Some old Greek sculptor (dead an age ago 
Ere Pisa yet brought forth her wondrous Two, 
For Florence' sake, and all the world's, to im- 
part 
New sweetness to his barbarous Christian art) 
Had wrought in monstrous imagery, bold. 
Uncouth, and drear despite of paint and gold, 
Christ tempted of the Devil upon the Mount : 
Varying the tale the Evangelists recount 
After the manner of the artist's mind. 
Colossal forms ! the Saviour of mankind. 
And Tempter, — not alluring he, but grim 
As the grim Middle Age imagined him ; 
Satan ; that ancient hodman of the souls 
That God forgets ; in corners, dens, and holes 
Where'er Sin squats, taking what he can find. 
He rakes earth's ofFal for that hod behind 
His hateful back ; God's scavenger is he ; 
Who here, with obscene gesture, coarse and free, 
Hell's twy-prong in his claw-bunch-fingers clutched. 
Picks from the rubbish at his shoulder hutched, 
And proffers to the Son of Man, a crown. 

Now, while these two were pacing up and down 
In moody talk, and Muzufer began 
To praise and pity much that day's marred plan. 
As being shrewdly plotted, — righteous, too. 



302 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

If rightly looked at ... . "For, Sir Emperor, 

who 
Disputes the right of Christian Emperors 
To slay the infidel ambassadors 
Of Moslem monarchs, that by nature stand 
Outside the law of every Christian land ? 
Yet Christians that, unchristianly, oppose 
Your Christian Majesty, are, certes, foes 
More formidable, therefore worse by far. 
Than merely Ottoman and Moslem are. 
Meanwhile, they have escaped us. "We have failed. 
Which is a pity. Eifty slaves impaled 
Will poorly, poorly at the best, replace 
Those eight Frank heads which we had hoped 

should grace 
This evening's banquet. For although we preach 
Thereby a wholesome homily to each 
Incipient traitor, and although, indeed. 
These cravens merit death, methinks you feed 
On your own limbs thus, — prey on your own 

power, 
Devoured the more, the more that you devour." 
He speaking thus, against the bronzen door 
Alexius struck his fist fierce-clenched, and swore 
An angry oath that neither Heaven nor Hell 
Should mar that evening's merriment. 

Then there fell 
With clink and clatter, by that blow shaked down, 
Out of the Devil's claw the Devil's crown, 
Striking the Emperor's foot. 

The two stood still, 
And stared upon each other. 



SIEGE OF CONSTANTINOPLE. 



.303 



" Omen ill ! " 
Mused Mnzufer. " Hell's Monarch's clutch is 

not 
So sure but it lets go Avhat it hath got." 
Alexius, laughing, answered quick, " Not so. 
Nor is it the first time I have stooped as low 
To get, — nor, gotten, thanked the Devil for 
This guttering hoop." And, " Aj, Sir Emperor ! " 
With mimic mirth laughed Muzufer. Within 
His dusky niche a sympathetic grin 
The wrinkled visage of the Father Fiend 
Emitted, till his coarse brows seemed thick -veined, 
And dull eye seemed to wink with dismal glee. 
So all together laughed that Wicked Three, 
While Day, to reach the West's red innermost, 
With lurid foot the lucid pavement crost. 

Then at the casement Muzufer cried, " Hark ! 

The butchery has begun before 't is dark. 

One .... two .... three .... four .... 

five wretches "? how they twist 
On those spiked staves ! Sure, that 's a woman's 

wrist 
And hand there, with the fluttering fingers "? 

Phew ! 
We must not sup to windward of this stew. 
Or you will find the hippocrass smell strong. 
Burn, burn benzoin ! How heavily hums along 
Yon beetle, caring nothing for it all, — 
Fool, and it sets me talking ! " 

" The shades fall 
Fast," cried Alexius. " Come ! the Banquet 

waits." 



304 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 



II. 



AND HOW HE ArTERWAKDS GAVE AWAY WHAT 
HE NO LONGER POSSESSED." 

And while he spake, Byzantium's golden gates 
From silver clarions to the setting sun 
Breathed farewells musical ; and, Day being done, 
Kight entered swift to meet the Sons of Night. 

Not black however, but in blaze of light 
Luxurious. 

Gardens. Galleries. "Walls o'erlaid 
With marvellous, many-colored marbles, made 
By multitudes of fragrant flames, that pant 
Erom flashing silver lampads, fulgurant ; 
Cornelian, agate, jasper, Istrian stone 
And Carian mixed, to shame the glories gone 
From Roman streets since first Mamurra had 
His own house-walls with milk-white marble clad. 
And down deep lengths of glowing colonnades 
The dim lamps twinkle soft through slumbrous 

shades 
Around rich-foliaged frieze, and capitals 
Of columns opening into halls, and halls 
Warm with sweet air, and wondrous color rolled 
From rare mosaics, — azure dasht with gold ; 
'Neath domes of purple populous with star 
On star of silver, coved o'er circular 
Vermiculatcd pavements interlaid 
With wreaths of floAvers and intricatest braid 
Of delicate device, about the base 
Of granite basins broad, which all the race 
Of sea-gods and sea-horses linger round, 



SIEGE OF CONSTANTINOPLE. 305 

In love forever with the long cool sound 
Of lucent waters that low-laughing fall 
And fall from pedestal to pedestal 
Among those curling nymphs and tritons bold 
That bridle restive dolphins reined with gold. 
Beyond, 'twixt pillared range and statued plinth. 
The lustrous maze of marble labyrinth 
Unfolds ; and, disentangling from itself 
Its luminous spaces, spreads into a shelf 
Of shining floorage carpeted with deep 
Thick-tufted crimsons, soft as summer sleep 
Under the footsteps of delicious dreams. 
O'er which, through dark arcades, steal airy gleams 
And sumptuous odors, and mellifluous waves 
Of music that with swimming languor laves 
Dim gardens green and deep, and flowery plots 
Where minstrels strike their golden angelots, 
And sing, — now, Caesar's splendor, Ceesar's state, 
That doth Olympian glories emulate, — 
And now, lascivious songs, the wanton loves 
Of Mars and Venus, — till the lemon groves 
Are loud with lyric rapture. 

Piled and built 
On glowing tables, garlanded and gilt, 
Of Mauritanian tree, the Banquet shines, — 
Bi'ight-beaming vessels brimmed with costly wines. 
And savorous fruits on golden salvers heaped. 
And smoking meats in misty spices steeped, — 
All round the terraced porch. In plenitude 
Of power, here, midmost of his multitude 
Of Greek Patricians robed in purple pomp 
Alexius sits. Meanwhile the bronzen tromp. 
Blown from dim-gaping galleries far behind, 
VOL. I. zo 



3o6 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Strives, with the clang of sudden cymbals joined, 
To crush all feebler sound out of each dull 
Low wail, or intense shriek, that in the lull 
Of that loud music ever and anon 
Some wind, from outer darkness poured upon 
The palace thresholds, pulsing passionate, 
Contrives to filter through the golden grate. 

Along a brilliant frieze of burnished wall 

That beams behind the throne Imperial, 

In ranged groups embossed and painted, blaze 

Byzantine sculptures that perpetuate praise 

Of Trajan's Justice, and the Sages Seven 

Of Antique Greece : between whose tablets driven 

Great cedarn beams, that prop the deep pavilion. 

Drop cataracts down of silken streams vermilion. 

Beneath, in bronze, Alcides with his club, 

And that she-wolf that had for sucking cub 

Rome's founder. But before the Emperor gleam 

High argent censers, whence thick odors stream 

From left to right in vast voluptuous clouds 

Of incense that with floating mist enshrouds 

His glory like a God's. And by his side, 

At his left hand, dark-haired, delicious-eyed 

Egyptian Jezraal leans. Around her twine 

The curling odors, and the fragrant wine 

Is lucent on her humid lip : and he, 

Beneath the loaded board, with amorous knee 

Erets her lascivious tunic's light-spun folds, 

And in hot palm her languid finger holds. 

Anon, with heated eyes, turning from her 

(All glitter and all glare) to Muzufer 

(All gravity, all gloom) that sits meanwhile 

On his lord's right, — forgetting even to smile, 



SIEGE OF CONSTANTINOPLE. 307 

So much his mind is busy at the task 
Of plotting how to slip from life's main mask 
Silently, unperceived, by some side-way 
Into safe darkness, ere God's Judgment lay 
Pride's revel all in ruins .... for he read 
Strange writing on the walls, — Alexius said : 
" What wise and weighty matter is astir 
Behind those knitted brows ? " 

Then Muzufer, 
Like one surprised without his armor on, 
Caught up his smile in haste, and answered : « None, 
Great Master, weigh more anxiously than I 
The mighty interests of your Majesty ; 
Whose greatness needs must oft oppress the brain, 
Compelled its utmost faculty to strain 
In contemplating the august extent 
Of power that doth, as doth heaven's firmament. 
Invest the world with glory. Who oppose 
Your Majesty, oppose mankind, which owes 
From realms unnumbered homage to your rule. 
Who doubts this is a miscreant and a fool : 
Whoe'er your Majesty's most sacred, high. 
And solemn rights dare question or deny 
Is a vile traitor and an arrant knave : 
But they that now in arms presume to brave 
Your power supreme are sinners more accurst 
Than any, save (if such there be) that worst 
Of wicked men that, being Grecian born. 
This barbarous rabble doth not loathe and scorn 
More than Turk, Jew, or Saracenic scum 
Of nameless nations scorned by Christendom. 
If such there be, were he my father's son. 
Myself would hold, to hang that caitiff on, 
No gibbet high enough. My thouglits are these." 



3o8 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

" Paul's body ! " quoth Alexius, " well they please 
Our passing humor. Wherefore we assign 
Hereby, from this time forth to thee and thine 
In title principal, and lordship free. 
Our palace of Chalcedon by the sea." 

And while he spake thus, echoed by the shout, 
" Long live Alexius ! " from the gates without 
Hoarse hubbub streamed, and up the revelling hall, 
Bearing the bannered bird imperial, 
A legionary captain, pale with fear, 
Made way towards the throne. 

To whom, " What cheer 1 " 
With husky wine-quenched voice the Emperor 

cried, 
And to the Emperor, rueful, he replied : 
" 111 cheer, Sir Emperor ! The Latin Host 
Hath fallen upon Chalcedon. We have lost 
Many brave men, and one fair palace you." . 
«<Pish!" cried the Emperor. "The Franks are 

few. 
What 's lost to-night may be to-morrow won, 
Palaces be there many a fairer one 
For us to feast in, you to fight for, still. 
Begone ! " 

III. 

WHAT WAS SHOWN TO THEOCRITE, THE MONK. 

So feasted they. No bird of ill 
With boding note around the rooftree croaked. 
Nor bearded star the masoned turrets stroked. 
Nor howled the hoarse wolf near the revelling town. 



SIEGE OF CONSTANTINOPLE. 309 

Only, that night a marvellous thing was shown 
To Theocrite the Monk, when he in prayer, 
After long fast went forth to breathe the air 
What time the air was stillest. For to him 
Appeared in heaven, above the city dim. 
The helmeted Arch- Angel of high God, 
That in his right hand held a measuring-rod. 
Stretched over all the East. To Avhom God gave 
Command to measure out a mighty grave 
Wherein to bury and hide from human eye 
The body of a world about to die. 
This thing in vision at the mid of night, 
'Twixt heaven and earth, was shown to Theocrite. 



3IO CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 



PART IV. 

" 'SI 7ro\t? TToAcs, TToAetav ttowtwi' b<j>6a\iJ.e, aKovar/ia irayKO- 
(Tjaiov, Oeafxa uTrep/cocr/iitov, iKK\7]<TLU}V YaAou^^j TricrTetas apxi" 
ye, bpOoSo^Ca? TToSr]ye, \6yuiv fj.i\rina, koAou TravTos evSiai- 
TTjjixa ! ci 7J e« ^eipo? Kvpiov to tou ^u^iou TrioOcra xrorrjptoi', 
w 17 yevojxevr) Trupbs /otepis ttoAAo) Spa<TTLKU)Tepov tou Karai^a- 
CTLOV irdkai nvpog nevTanoXeiti?, Tt fiapTvprjaui aoi ; " — Nice- 
tas, Alexius Ducas, p. 763, c. 5. 



I. 

JUSTICE 

" 7e /mc/s anfe terminum " . . . . and lo, 
One half of heaven is wrapt in rosy glow ! 
«' Rerum creator poscimus " . . . . the hymn 
Sweet-heaving swells o'er solemn air and dim. 
Sunset. A few large stars. The sea-wind vents 
Among the narrow-streeted silken tents, 
From Chalcedonian palace chambers calm, 
The lofty, pure, sonorous Latin psalm 
Forth-poured by sworded priests athwart the tramp 
And hoarse buzz humming deep from camp to 

camp 
Of those six battles, ranged and bannered all 
Under the Counts of Flanders, of St. Paul, 
Of Montmorency, of Blois, and Montferrat 
Who, with his Lombards, holds the rear, stretched 

flat 
Behind the city, lengthening many a mile 
Into the midnight toward St. Stephen's pile. 



SIEGE OF CONSTANTINOPLE. 311 

« 

And all athwart this rustling region far. 
Buzzed over by the sounding wings of War 
(That frets and flutters, bound in brazen chain, 
And breasts his iron cage), from brain to brain 
One passionate purpose seethes. 

For now those eight 
Ambassadors, returned, with wrath rehxte 
In clamorous conclave their scorned embassage : 
Whose high compeers consult how best to wage 
Now-imminent conflict with self-confident Crime, 
And wield the weighty instrument of Time, 
Ready to smite. 

So, after lowly prayer, 
Each Knight upon his naked sword doth swear 
A solemn oath to sec dread justice done, 
And rouse the slumbering war at rise of sun. 
Therefore, all night, the humming tents about, 
By twos and threes conversing, in and out, 
'Twixt mighty mangonel, and wheeled tower 
Armed with spring-shouldered arbalists of power. 
The great chiefs stride indignant. 

II. 

AEMED 

At sunrise 
The six-times-folded Battle, serpent-wise. 
Slid past Blachernse, and with steely fold 
At sunset wrapt gray Boemond's castle hold. 
There, by long laboring in the dark, Avas made 
All round the camps deep trench and palisade ; 
'Gainst which the war for many a night and day 
Flared, rocked, and roared. 



312 CHRONICLES AND CUAEACTERS. 

Full hard it were to say 
What multitudes of mighty deeds were done, 
Since first Lascaris by the Bourgignon 
"Was captived, till the Danish curtle-axe 
Dropped on the walls, before those fierce attacks 
Which, all unarmed, Eustache Le Marchis led, 
Only an iron cap upon his head. 



III. 

BY SEA AND LAND, , 

Meanwhile, at sea, the white Fleet, following, 
Hovered hard by ; and crept with cautious wing 
Under the wave-girt city ; planting there 
A formidable grove. 

Not anywhere 
Through seas and skies were ever sailed or rowed 
Ships huge as these. The Paradiso proud. 
Like a broad mountain, monarch of the morn. 
By the mad clutch of tumbling Titans torn 
Down from the windy ruins of the sky. 
With Jove's chained thunders throbbing silently 
In his strong pines, adown the displaced deep 
Shoulders the Pelegrino, — half asleep. 
With wavy fins each side a scarlet breast 
Slanted. Hard by, more huge than all the rest, — 
Air's highest, water's deepest, denizen, 
A citadel of ocean, thronged with men 
That tramp in silk and steel round -battlements 
Of windy wooden streets, 'mid terraced tents 
And turrets, under shoals of sails unfurled, — 
That vaunting monster, Venice calls " The World." 



SIEGE OF CONSTANTINOPLE. 



3n 



And now is passed each purple promontory 
Of Sestos and Abydos, famed in story, 
And now all round the deep blue bay uprise 
Into the deep blue air, o'er galleries 
Of marble, marble galleries ; and lids 
O'er lids of shining streets ; dusk pyramids 
O'er pyramids ; and temple walls o'er walls 
Of glowing gardens, whence white sunlight falls 
From sleepy palm to palm ; and palace tops 
O'ertopped by palaces. Naught ever stops 
The struggling Glory, from the time he leaves 
His myrtle-muffled base, and higher heaves 
His mountain march from golden-grated bower 
To'bronzen-gated wall, — and on, from tower 
To tower, — until at last deliciously 
All melts in azure summer and sweet sky. 
Then, after anthem sung, sonorous all 
The bronzen trumpets to the trumpets call ; 
Sounding across the sea from bark to bark, 
Where floats the winged Lion of St. Mark, 
The mighty signal for assault. 

A shout 
Shakes heaven. And swift from underneath up- 

spout 
Thick showers of hissing arrows that down-rain • 
Their rattling drops upon the walls, and stain 
The blood-streaked bay. The floating forest 

groans. 
And creaks, and reels, and cracks. The rampart- 
stones 
Clatter and shriek beneath the driven darts. 
And on the shores, and at the gates, upstarts. 
One after one, each misshaped monster fell 
Of creaking ram, and cumbrous mangonel. 



SH 



CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 



Great stones, down-jumping, chop, and split, and 

crush 
The rocking towers ; wherefrom the spearmen 

rush. 
The morning star of battle, marshalling all 
That movement massive and majestical. 
Gay through the tumult which it guides doth go 
The grand gray head of gallant Dandalo. 
With what a full heart following that fine head, — 
Thine, noble Venice, by thy noblest led ! 
In his blithe-dancing turret o'er the sea. 
Glad as the gray sea-eagle, hovers he 
Through sails in flocks and masts in avenues. 

Elsewhere, the inland battle, broken, strews 
With flying horse the hollows ; while but ill 
The heavy-harnessed Frankish Knighthood still 
Strains, staggering as each Flanders stallion falls, 
In the rear region, round the city walls. 
Against those silken turms and squadrons light, 
That follow and fly, scatter and reunite. 
Tormenting their full-bulked too-cumbvous foe ; 
Like swarms of golden bees that come and go 
About the bear whose paw is on their hive 
Patient and pertinacious, though they drive 
Their stings into his eyes, settle and swarm, 
Disperse and close again, to do him harm, 
Unharmed. For there in splendor eminent 
Is pitched the purple-topt Imperial tent, 
And domes of crimson glow i' the azure sky, 
Girt by Byzantium's gorgeous chivalry. 

So to the kindling of the Even Star 
The groan ing-hearted battle greatens. 



SIEGE OF CONSTANTINOPLE. 315 

IV. 

IS TRIUMPHANT. 

Far 
And near the strong siege tugs by sea and land 
The storm-struck citj, — hugged on either hand 
By heavy ruin, — till from mast to wall, 
From sea to shore, the high drawbridges fall, 
And in mid-air the armed men march, and drop 
On battlemented roof and turret top. 
The deadly Greek fire dips, and drips, and crawls, 
And twists, and runs about the ruining walls. 
And all is blaze and blackness, glare and gloom. 
Pietro Alberti, the Venetian, whom 
His sword lights, shining naked 'twixt his teeth 
Sharp-gripped, through rushing arrows, wrapt Avith 

death. 
Leaps from his ship into the waves : noAV stands 
On the soaked shore : now climbs with bleeding 

hands 
And knees the wall : now left, now right, swift, 

bright. 
Wild weapons round him whirl and sing: now 

right. 
Now left, he smites, fights, shakes, breaks, all things 

down. 

The Standard of St. Mark is on the town ! 

Andre d' Herboise, the gallant gay French knight, 
Fast following him, hath gained the other height. 
Prompt as a plunging meteor, that strikes straight 
And instantaneous through the intricate 
Thick-crowded stars its keen aim, flitting through 



3i6 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

The choked breach, flashes dauntless Dandalo. 
In rush the rest. In clattering cataract 
The invading host rolls down. Disrupt, distract. 
The invaded break and fly. The great church 

bells 
Toll madly, and the battering mangonels 
Bellow. The priests in long procession plant 
The cross before them, passing suppliant 
To meet the marching conquest. With fierce cries 
Against the throne the rabble people rise, 
And slaves cast off their fetters, and set free 
Their hidden hates. For aye the craven knee 
That meekest crooks, adoring present power, 
Before the little idol of the hour. 
Is cousin to the craven hand that smites 
Most fiercely down the image it delights 
To insult and shame when greater gods wax wroth. 



V. 

SICUT FUMUS. 

Now, therefore, when Alexius saw that both 
The creatures and destroyers of his power 
Were on him, to his soul he said : " The Hour 
Is mine no more. Soul, we have lived our day." 
Then, waiting for the night, he fled away 
Into the night. Night took him by the hand 
And led him silently into the land 
Of darkness. Darkness o^er his forehead cast 
Her mighty mantle, murmuring, " Mine, at last ! " 

In the great audience chamber at Byzance 
A Latin soldier, leaning on his lance 



SIEGE OF CONSTANTINOPLE, -^i-j 

Fatigued with slaughter, on the marble ground 
Blood-bathed an empty purple garment found. 
And then, for the first time, immersed in thought, 
The Latin soldier muttered, " I have fought 
Against an Emperor ! " 

Jewels in her head 
And serpents in her hand, — smiling, and dead, 
And beautiful in death, — each glorious globe 
(Loosed from the glittering murrey satin robe) 
Of her upturned defiant bosom, bare. 
Save for the few locks of delicious hair 
That swept them — saved by scornful death from 

scorn — 
Only the beauty left of her — at morn 
They found the Egyptian Jezraal. 

So fades 
Star after star along the cypress glades. 
Face after face from the rose-bowers : so song 
After song dies the lonesome lawns along. 
Each to his time ! The revel and the rout. 
Lamp after lamp, mask after mask, go out ; 
Still for new singers the old songs to sing 
In the same place to the same lute-playing : 
Still for new dancers, to new tunes the same 
Dance dancing ever, to take up the game 
All lose in turn. 

Another time begins. 
New passions, and new pleasures, and new sins, 
Forever the old failure in new forms ; 
To fashion a metropolis for worms, 
And Avrite in dust man's moral ! 

Meanwhile, where- 
Hides Muzufer ? what doth he ? how doth fare ? 



3i8 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

How fares the small sunshiny insect thing 
That feeds on death and in the beam doth sing, 
Wlien quenched the beam, and stopped the mo- 
ment's play '? 
Nature both brings to birth and sweeps away 
Myriads of minims such : whose souls minute 
For loss or gain doth Heaven or Hell compute ? 
Please they, or tease they, how shall Fate devise 
Fit retribution for dead butterflies ? 

Then, Power being changed, the changeful people 

went. 
And from the noisome pit where he was pent 
Drew forth blind Isaac. 

Seven black years of night 
Clung to him, and kept him cold in the sun's light. 
For he had grown to hold familiar talk 
With newts and creeping things, — long wont to 

walk 
About him in the silent dark down there, 
Which he would miss henceforth. He was aware 
Of little else. And it was hard to him 
To understand (so very faint and dim 
To his dull memory were the former times) 
Why the great world, intent upon its crimes 
And pleasures, was at pains to take him back 
Unto itself, from that obUvion black. 
Where he, the loveless man of long ago, 
Had learned to love, what men ablior, — the slow, 
Soft-footed dwellers of the dark. He had 
So lost the habitude of being glad. 
And all the strength of it, that, though thrice o'er 
New friends explained to him his joy, no more 
Than one born deaf and dumb he seemed to find 



SIEGE OF CONSTANTINOPLE. 319 

A meaning to the matter in his mind. 
So, passively, he yielded to the crowd 
That robed him, crowned him, and proclaimed 

aloud 
Him only the true Caesar. 



VI. 

TWO BLIND MEN. 

Now once more 
Proud to up-prop all Power, those lions four. 
Subservient, their broad blazing backs upon 
The bright floor crouch, beneath the throne whereon 
Blind Isaac sits ; with fumbhng hand, in dull 
Delaying doubt, to affix the golden bull 
And great sign manual, by the Barons claimed, 
To that high treaty with Alexius framed 
In Zara. 

Which to place in those weak hands, 
Blind Dandalo before blind Isaac stands. 
Two gray old men, and sightless each. The one 
Sits robed in royal state on sumptuous throne, 
Distinguisht by the imperial diadem 
And purple mantle proud with many a gem ; 
And sees them not : but, in himself, doth gaze 
On darkness, gloomy death, and guilty days. 
The other, by long noble labors marred. 
With august brows by battle thunder scarred. 
Stands, — marked to sight by honorable soils 
Of his yet recent self-regardless toils ; 
And sees them not : but, in himself, doth see 
The bright beginnings of great days to be. 
And glory never dying. 



320 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

VII. 

THE DOGE IS OBSTINATE. 

After this, 
In the Cathedral (as old custom is) 
On battle shield, in purple buskins, borne, 
And vermeil robe, by new-made Caesars worn, 
The young Alexius, in full pomp and state 
Of sovran power, supreme beneath the great 
Imperial ensign's eagle wings unfurled. 
Receives high homage of one half a world. 

Which things accomplisht ; and a month or more 
Of pageant and carousal being o'er 
(Whose swiftly sliding and soft-footed hours 
Slipped unsuspected by, 'raid myrtle bowers. 
From porphyry palaces), the Red Gross lords, 
Yawning, with listless looks down their long swords. 
As banquet after banquet palled on them. 
Cry . . . . " Now for Joppa and Jerusalem ! " 

The new-made Emperor still their presence prays 
And added aid, with promised guerdon : says 
Need yet remains to heal by wholesome arts 
The much-hurt empire, — all the popular parts 
Bind up in single, and compact the state ; 
Which tasks more time : hints vaguely hindrance 

great ; 
Claims to appease, and scruples nice to weigh ; 
Funds hard to find ; grave causes for delay ; 
With promise fair of further profit still, 
Thereby implied. 

" The Treaty, signed, fulfil 
First, Emperor of the East," said Dandalo. 



SIEGE OF CONSTANTINOPLE. 321 

VIII. 
VERTIGO. 

Alas, that in this •world 't is ever so ! 

Tor men might be as gods, if it were not 

That greed of po^ver goes mad from power got. 

"Who stands upon the pinnacle, as 'twere, 

Of Greatness, — seeing, hearing, everywhere 

About himself the dazzling orb spin i-ound. 

Turns dizzy at the sight and at the sound. 

And tumbles from the toj) to the abyss. 

Of all high places this the danger is ; — 

That those who stand there needs must gaze 1)6- 

neath. 
Till they wax desperate ; being wooed to death 
By depth ; from whose black clutch some point of 

sight 
Above them seen, if such there were, — some height 
Higher than theirs, — whereon to lix their eyes. 
Might haply save them. But this Heaven denies. 
And, seeing that, of Emperors and Kings, 
The Scribe of Judgment (who plucks out his wings 
To write their histories o'er and o'er again. 
Leaving meanwhile the lives of meaner men 
To kind oblivion) doth record to us 
So many monsters, so few virtuous, 
"What wonder if some weary souls suppose 
That 'tis perchance the thing itseJf {yrho knows ?) 
Time cannot cure : the nature of the thing, 
Not of the man : the kingship, not the king ? 

Kowe'er that be, Alexius, now made strong 
By rights restored, forthwith waxed weak by wrong 
VOL. I. zi 



322 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Renewed : and paltered both with his allies 

And with his people ; teasing each with lies. 

And fronting bothways with a double face. 

Thus, since, with reason shrewd, the populace 

Looked coldly, and askance, on power restored 

By foreign arms, the frightened Prince ignored 

Those foreign friends to whom he owed his throne : 

Carped at their claims, and did his oath disown. 

For heedless Hope in. misery oft is fain 

To mortgage more of gratitude for gain 

Than, in possession, frugal Memory yields 

Her clamorous claimant, from full harvest fields. 

But since, withal, he feared the people too, 

He plotted still, and still desired (untrue 

To all alike), by foreign arms kept still. 

Still, too, to keep in check the people's will. 

Till foes, thus finding friends in friends turned foes, 

Said, " Power is powerless." 

IX. 
A DARK DEED. 

Then one night uprose 
Myrtillus, the one-eyebrowed, in the dark 
(Marked out for mischief by the Devil's mark 
Across his squinting, double-minded eyes). 
And seized on the Boy-Emperor, by surprise 
And treason foul, in unsuspecting sleep ; 
Whom, having plunged him down a dungeon deep. 
Six times with hell-brewed hebanon he tried 
To poison. But the Prince, because he died 
That way too slowly, being yo.ung and hard 
Of life, 't is said, was strangled afterward. 



SIEGE OF CONSTANTINOPLE. 



323 



No need to strangle Isaac. Soon as told 
Of what was done, he dfd his mantle fold 
Across his brows, and said, " This was to be 
Because of my great sins that follow me." 
And that same night he died. 

The morrow morn. 
On battle shield, in purple buskins, borne, 
Myrtillus men crowned Emperor. 

X. 

THE FULNESS OF TIME. 

Dandalo 
Said then . , . . " The time is come, which long 

ago 
I saw in Zara. Who eschew the good 
Must choose the evil. Drunk with brawl and 

blood, 
This Empire reels upon her downward road ; 
Corrupt at home, contemptible abroad. 
Devilish, she would be godlike without God : 
Godless, would rule, who needs, herself, the rod : 
And deems, not being good, she can be great : — 
Great, without one great man, i' the face of Fate ! 
The smgular tyrant breeds the general slave. 
And shameless citizens shamed cities have. 
The time is now, and ours the hands, friends. 
To sweep this rubbish hence, and make amends 
To earth, too long encumbered with the same. — 
To arms, for all men's sake, and in God's name ! " 

So, down before the iron Occident 
The guilty golden-crowned Orient went. 



3^4 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Because those Powers that make, and break, and 

keep, 
And cast away — Spirits that in the deep 
And toilful stithy of that underground 
Gray miner. Nature, with unheeded sound 
Monotonously hammer, heave, and beat, 
And bend with blow on blow, and heat on heat. 
The pliant world to every shape it wears. 
Upon the stubborn anvils of the years — 
Said to each other, " Break we up this Past ! ' 
And suddenly one half a world was cast 
Into the furnace, to be forged anew. 



XI. 

THE HORSES OF LYSIPPUS. 

At midnight, in the murtherous streets, the dew 
Was blood-red, and the heavens were hurt with 

sound 
Of shriek and wail the ransacked region round. 
So that men heard not, in the Hippodrome, 
Those Four Bronze Horses, that had come fi'om 

Rome, 
In conference, talking each to each. ^ 

One said : 
"Our purple-mantled master. Power, is fled. 
And how shall We Four fare ? Let us away 
Through the thick night ! For ever since the day 
We followed that great Western Caesar home 
To grace the glories of Augustine Rome, 
We Four have felt no hand upon our manes 
Less great than theirs, who grasp the golden reins 
Of Empire ; they behind whose chariot wheel 



SIEGE OF CONSTANTINOPLE. 



32-5 



Yet-burning ruts their fervid course reveal. 
Who rode the rolling world. We also, when 
Power passed from Rome, his car drew here again. 
And carried Conquest in his course divine 
From West to East, to dwell with Constantine. 
But now is Power departed, who knows where 1 
Out of the East ! " 

So spake that voice in air. 
The others answered : " Whither shall we go ? 
Our master being gone 1 Eor who doth know 
Where we may find him 1 " 

XII. 
AND THE LION OP ST. MAKK. 

Listening in the dark, 
To these replied the Lion of St. Mark : 
" Power rideth on my wings. Come also ye 
Whither I go, across the vassal sea. 
And let us bear with us, to please him well. 
Beauty, the spouse of Power. And we will dwell 
Together." 

Then they answered, " Even so. 
Lion I and where thou goest we will go." 

So those Five Beasts went forth. And took with 

them 
Power and Beauty. For whose diadem 
They also brought great store of precious things, 
And gathered graven gems in golden rings, 
And carved and colored stones, to be the dower 
Of Beauty and the heritage of Power : 
Clear agate cups and vases crystalline, 



326 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Porphyry, and syenite, and serpentine. 
Obsidian, alabaster : statues fair 
Of lucid gods : garments of richness rare : 
And gold, and bronze, and silver : turkis blue 
As Venus' veins : and rubies red in hue 
As Adon's lips : and jasper, onyx, opal. 

In this way Venice took Constantinople. 



SIEGE OF CONSTANTINOPLE. 327 



NOTES TO THE SIEGE OF CONSTAN- 
TINOPLE. 

Page 260. Isaac is Emperor, and reigns at ease, &c. 

" riv ovv TO. nepl Tr]v Slairav 6 ^acrtXeu? o5to? noXvTeXecrTaTO? 
/cat StaSoTtKOS PpoifidTUiv TOts irapecnuxTLV. elxev ovv aTexvw 
TYjv rpane^av 2oA.o/iAaivT6tov, Koi ras ecrS^ra? w? e/ceip'o? Kati'o- 
(^aveis nepLeiceiTO, Povvi^utv fxev tov? apTOU?, Xoxfi-W Se 
KvuiSdKuiv ixdvo^v Te SiaTrXeucnv /cal ttovtov olvona Set/cvus rr^j' 
e(rTta(riv. Kai /(/.rjv eTepr}fiepoL? ivrjvndOei, Aourpots, wcr(/)pai- 
vero re fivpe\poviJ.evciiv evdiSilbv, /cat rat? (TTa/crat? eppavrt^ero, 
to? o/aotw/ao. re vaou crroAats e^a.XA.01? e/ce'/cacTTO ^oarpvx'-io^t.e- 
vos' eTTtSet/cTtKog re -^v ws raws 6 (^tAoKOCjao? /cat /xrj fits tov 
avTo;' xf'Twva evSt5uc^/cdJU,6^'0? uxrirep e/c TracrTou vviJi(f>Log /cat 
tb? e/c A.t'/ii'rjg Trept/caA.A.oi)s rjAto? Trpojjet /ca0* e/cacrrrjv riov dva- 
KToptaV x*^'P'^*' ^^ Tats evrpaTreAtats /cat rots e/c t^s aTraA.^? 
MoucTTjs qcry-aaiv aA.tcr/c6jaevos, eyepcrtye'Xoxrt re av9p(OTTl.<TK0L<; 
(TVunapaOvpixiv, ou/c eTre^uyou Ke'p/cui/^t re /cat ju.t/u,ots /cat Tra- 
pacriro!.? /cat dotSots Tct j8a(7tA.eta." — /c. t. A. 

Nicetae Choniatse, de Isaacio Angelo, lib. iii. p. 579. 2. 
(The Bonn edition, edited by Bekker.) 

Page 261. In agate cups, and vases crystalline, &c. 

" Vasi d'oro, d'argento d'agata, sorprendenti per la loro 
grandezza, i quali erano stati portati in trionfo da Gneo Pom- 
peo dopo la sua vittoria su i re Tigrane e Mitridate." 

Origine delle Feste Veneziane, di Guistina Renier Michiel. 
Venice, 1817. Vol. 2, p. 163. 

Page 262. And realms extended from Euphrates far, &c. 

See Nicet. Chon. de Isaac. Ang. lib. iii. p. 565, 566. 

Page 264. The chase ! the Emperor cries, — the chase ! 

&c. 
See Nicet. Chon. de Isaac. Ang. lib. iii. p. 593. 



328 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Page 266. Marten, and zibeline, and miniver, &c. 

" De samiz, et de dras de soie, & de robes Vaires & Grises, & 
Hermines, & toz les chiers auoii's qui onques furent trouue en 
terre." 

Ville-Hardouin, p. 102, cap. 132. Paris, 1557, folio. 

Page 269. Our Brother liath two eyes yet in his head, 
&c. 

See Nicet. Chon. de Isaac. Ang. lib. iii. p. 595. 3. This 
punishment was special to the usage of the Greeks of the 
Lower Empire, and adopted from them by other nations. 
There were two ways of inflicting it. The first, by means of a 
bull's pizzle so applied as to force, by extreme pressure, the 
eyeballs out of theii* sockets : the second, and least painful, by 
pouring boiling vinegar into the eyes. See Procopius Hist. 
Arcana. There is also a curious account (which is probably 
false) in Egantius, lib. ix. c. 12de exempl. illustr. Viror. Ve- 
nd. Civit., of the manner in which (according to this writer) 
the eyes of Hemy Dandalo were destroyed by the Emperor 
Manuel, — ^'■candente lamina area, ejus oculis objectd, 
quam ille intueri continuo cogeretur.^'' 

Page 270. Meanwhile the other flees, &c. 

" Et ejus filium Alexium interfici jusserat ; sed per quem- 
dam Senescaldum manus ejus evadens Alexius, ad Suevorum 
ducem Philippum regem Alemanise confugit." 

Alberic. Ann. Mccii. 

Page 271. The Pope the Prince first plies, &c. 

See Gest. Innocent. III. p. 71, 72. 

Page 271. Irene, sister to Alexius wed, &c. 

She was widow of Roger, King of Sicily (the son of Tancred), 
and espoused Philip, the Suabian Kaiser, after the death of 
her first husband. In Germany she seems to have been best 
known under the name of Maria. Witness her epitaph in the 
monastery of Lorch : — 

" Nobilis atque pia hie cineratur graeca Maria 
Philippi regis conjux. Hanc atria regis 
fac intrare pia semita virgo Maria." 



SIEGE OF CONSTANTINOPLE. 329 

Page 272. Meanwhile the Red Cross Lords, &c. 

" Et li Quens & tous ses Barnes 
S'en fu droit a Gad res ales, 
V IL Due de Venise I'ot 
Menet, car el faire n'en pot." 

Philippes Mouskes, 

Page 272. Venetian Dandalo, &c. 

He was eighty years old when elected to the Dukedom, and 
died thirteen years afterwards at Constantinople, where his 
tomb in St. Sophia (see Fille-Hardouin) existed till that city 
was taken by the Turks (see Rhamusius). Most authors 
attribute the loss of the Doge's eyesight to Manuel Comne- 
nus ; and in the present poem I have adopted this supposi- 
tion, although I think the truth of it extremely doubtful. 
Godefroy, a monk of S. Pantaleone, writes of him that " ad 
expugnandam quandam civitatem Regis Vngarioe nomine 
Sadramccecatus fuit " ; and Philippes Mouskes also asserts 
that the Doge lost his sight at the siege of Zara. This is ob- 
viously a mistake, or perhaps even a wilful misstatement, 
designed to imply a Divine judgment on an undertaking con- 
demned by the Pope. But it is highly probable that his 
blindness was from accidental or natural causes. Sabellicus, 
indeed, avers that the Doge was not entirely blind, and this 
opinion Is supported by a passage in Sanutus. 

Page 273. From, whose prows the arms 

Of heroes hang, and low-hulled palanders. 

Ville-Hardouin (c. li) makes the Doge say in his reply to 
the embassy from the Barons, "iVos ferons Vuissiers d 
passer quatre milles cinq cens chevaux, et neuf mille 
Escuyers." This indicates cleai-ly enough the character of 
these vessels ; which were built flat for carrying horses. The 
etymology of the word itself also (Huissiers — Galies Huis- 
sieres — from huis, or doors) implies that they were made 
with doors to open and shut for the entry and issue of the 
horses, — probably much after the same fashion as the flying 
bridges now common in Germany and America. Huges, 



330 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Count of S. Pol, in an epistle describing the first siege of 
Constantinople, calls them naves usaricB, and the Greeks, 
Hippegi, Hippagogi, Hippagones, &c. The Sire de Joinville 
(Hist, of S. Louis) describes the usage of them very distinctly : 
"Nous entrasmes au mois dPAoust celuy an en la nef 
d la Roche de Marseille^ if fut ouuerte la parte de la nef 
pour /aire entrer nos cheuaux,ceux que deuions mener 
outremer. Et quant tous furent entrez, laporte fut re- 
cloune, Sf estouppee, ainst comme Von voudrait faire un 
tonnel de vin ; parce que quand la nef est en la grant 
mer, toute laporte est en eau." 

It was the custom of this time for the knights to hang their 
shields over and along the decks of the galleys, so as to form 
a sort of shelter from the arrows of the enemy. This was also 
done for show in naval parade. Guillaume Guiart sings of the 
naval armament under Grimaldi : — 

" 0« tant ot bannieres inclines 
Dras enarmes a euuresjines, 
Enuiron les bors espandus, 
Lances druites, escus pandus, 
Blans haubers,''^ &c. 
And again : 

" Et au desous des creneleures 
De riches dras a enarmures, 
Atachies comme d bastonceaus. 
Targes, banieres, penonceaus," &c. 

Page 274. And some notable men. 

In Ville-IIardouin the Doge says to the embassy from the 
Barons, " Vostres Seignors sont li plus hauls homes qui 
soient sans corone." Some few of these names will be fa- 
miliar to every reader, but the greater number of them is 
unnoticed by either Gibbon or Voltaire, or any modern histo- 
rian that I know of. They will be found, however, in Tille- 
Hardouin, Alberic, and other of the early chroniclers. The 
reader can, of course, if he pleases, skip the list of these Nota- 
bles, which, following the fashion of the old rhymers, I have 
furnished for the satisfaction of a curiosity which is not likely 
to be felt by many. 



SIEGE OF CONSTANTINOPLE. 



331 



Page 275. With shields slung frontwise over chain ha- 
bergeons. 

These shields, or scutcheons, were blazoned with the arms 
of those who wore them, and usually slung under the neck. 
" Is scutum simul coUoque pependit." Abbo de Bel. Par. lib. 
it. So also the Sire de Joinville, " Et s'en alia a eux I'escu 
au coul," p. 61. 

Page 278. Gamier of Borland^ whose assaults when 
Hell, &c. 

^^ Eodem anno contigit in Dioecesi Treverensi supra 
Renum apud S. Goaris oppidum, cum Garnerus de Bor- 
lande, qui crat in parte Regis de Suevia, obsideret Eccle- 
siam in ipso castro sitam et munitam Clericis deintus 
Cruci/ixum locantibus in fenestra, unus de forinsecus 
diabolico spiritu repletus querelam repente traxlt contra 
Crucijixum, et ecce de Crucifixo infixo sanguis fluxit lar- 
gissime cunctis et foris et intus qui aderant cernentibus, 
et ipse Garnerus territus obsidionem dimisit, et ab eo 
loco aufugit.^' Alberic, Ann. 1201. 

Page 278. Whose dam 

Was nameless Madge. 

The surname and family of Marguerite his mother is not 
known. His father was Dreux of Amiens. 

Page 278 his quilted gamboison. 

" Totferri sua membra plicis, tot quisque patenis 
Pectora tot coriis, tot Gambesonibus armat.^^ 

Guillaume le Breton, lib. xi. Philipp. 
So also the Sire de Joinville, in his History of S. Louis, " Je 
trouue illec pres un Gaubisson d''estouppes," &c., and 
Guillaume de Guigneville, in the Soul's Pilgrimage. 
" Car dessous va la Gamboison 
Qui le veut armer par raison." 
It was a quilted garment of thick stuff, which went under the 
hauberk and reached over the thighs. That it was sometimes 
worn in war without armor of any kind would appear from a 



332 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

passage in Ville-Hardouin, as well as from the following, in 
which Nicetas, speaking of Conrad of Montferrat, describes 

his gamboison " a.vro<; fievToi avev dvpeov Tr\viKaxna fii- 

riyu>vi^£TO, e/c 6e \ivov TreTTOnj/xe'voi' v^acTixa. oivco avcmjpal 
t/cavo)? ^Aicr/aevo) 8ia^poxov TToAAa/cts TrepL-rrrvxQkv Slkt^v OJjpa- 
KO? eveSvcTO' es tocoutov S^riv avTiTUTre? a\al /cat olvco (tvixttl- 
XrjOev dig Kal jSeAou? elvat navTOs areyavdJTepov' -qpLQixovvTO 
6' et? OKTtoKaiSeKa kol nXeiu) ra tov u(^acr/xaTos <rviJL7TTvyiJ.ara." 
From which it would seem to have been prepared with wine 
and salt, and doubled eighteen times. 

Page 280. Bussy d'Herboise, the frank French knight. 

Brother of Andre d'Herboise, who distinguished himself 

( together withPietro Albertithe Venetian) at Constantinople. 

Page 281. Henry of Ofterdingen, &c. 
Mythical. 

Page 281. A milk-white panther rampant, on afield 
Vert. 

^^Panthera alba in campo, ut vacant, viridi splendebat." 
Wolfg. Lazii de Gent. migr. p. 223. 

Page 282. Le Valet de Constantinople. 

So King Pepin, in the Roman des Loherancs, says of him- 
self: 

Iceste guerre commant d niaufez vis. 
Quant com.menga Vallez ere Sf meschins. 

That is to say, that, when the war began, he was still valet, 
and young prince. In France, at this time, the Nobility con- 
sisted of Three Orders. The First, composed of all who were 
entitled to carry their own banner in war (hence knights Ban- 
aret — the lowest of this order) : the Second, Chevaliers (sim- 
ple) or knights, whose fiefs were not large enough to furnish 
the^ contingent entitled to carry a banner, and who therefore 
fought under the banner of some more powerful chief -. these 
were called Bachelors (Bacheliers — Bas Chevaliers) : the 
Third, Esquires (Escuyers), sons of nobles of all ranks, to 
whose youth the genius of Chivalry assigned the grace and 



SIEGE OF CONSTANTINOPLE. 333 

dignity of a noble servitude (Ich dien), and who carried (as 
a privilege) the shields (Escus) of their patrons in war. 
Camden derives the term " Esquire " (scutcheon-bearer) from 
the right to bear arms. But it is more probable that the 
term represents the ^^ devoir " to bear the shield of another, — 
not the right to blazon one's own. To be Chevalier or Baron, 
it was necessary to have risen, as it were, from the ranks in the 
service of chivalry, to have been Valet before being Lord, 
Soldier before being Captain, Esquire before being Knight. 
Our playing-cards record the tradition, which our usage dis- 
honors. The Valets, although they have become knaves, still 
retain the noble names of Launcelot du Lac, and Huon of 
Bordeaux, &c. 

Page 285. Borland then took sail. 

" En eel termine se trauailla tant un halz hom de I'ost qui 
ere d'Alemaigne Carniers de Borlade que el s'en alia en une 
nef de mercheans." 

. Ville-Hardouin, 51. 

Page 285 but never came they more. 

" Et li sairemenz que il firent ne furent mie bien tenu, que 
11 ne reparerent pas en I'ost." 

Id. id. 

Page 285. Of whom Jive hundred Barons lost their lives. 

" En une nef s'en emblerent bien cinq cens, si noierent tuit, 
& furent perdu. Vne altre compagnie s'en embla par terre, 
& s'en cuida aller par Esclavonie : & li paisant de la terre ies 
assailliereat, & en occistrent assez." 

Id. id. 

Page 288. When the Ambassadors of Venice, France., &c. 

" Giunti nella sala del trono, i loro occhi furono abbagliati 
dallo splendore dell' oro e delle gemme, solita sostituzione al 
poter vero, e alia vera virtu.-' 

Origine delle Feste Veneziane, vol. 2, p. 153. 

Page 291. Render to CcBsar what is Cassar''s own., &c. 
" Quar il le tint a tort, & a perchie contre Dieu, & contre 
raison. Aiuz est son neuvu qui ^i siet entre nos . . . . fil de 



334 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

son frere I'Empereor Sursac. Mes s'il voloit a la merci son 
neuou venir, & li rendoit la corone, & I'empire, nos li proie- 
riens que il li pardonast," &c. 

Ville-Hardouin, c. 73, p. 55. 

Page 296. Come ye as peaceful pilgrims, to pursue, &c. 

" Se vos vos i estes poure, ne disetels, il vou donnera vo- 
lentiers de ses viande & de son auoir, and vos li vindiez sa 

terre Car se vos estiez vint tant de gent, ne vos en 

porroiz vos aller, se il mal vos voloit faire, que vos ne fussiez 
morz & desconfiz." 

Id., c. 72, p. 54. 

Page 297. Our answer prompt to your barbarian crew 
Shall be your heads, &c. 

" Prima pero di nulla intraprendere si delibero di spedere 
Ambasciatori all' usurpatore Alessio, intimandagli di remet- 
tere la citta e lo scettro a Isaaco ed al giovane Alessio, che 
n'erano i padroni legitimi. II tiranno non solo recuse di ar- 
rendersi, ma minaccio persin della vita gli stessi Ambascia- 
tori." 

Feste Veneziane, vol. 2, p. 152. 

This, however, is not true. The Embassage was sent, not 
by the Barons to Alexius, but by the Emperor to tl^em 5 and 
the only menace put forth on that occasion was what I have 
cited above, from Ville-Hardouin. The author or authoress of 
the Feste has evidently confounded the event here referred to 
with what Ville-Hardouin describes as having afterwards 
taken place between the deputies of the Barons and the 
younger Alexius, in reference to which that pious chronicler 
thanks God that the Ambassadors escaped with their lives. 
Justification for the episode, as I have related it, exists never- 
theless in the universal custom of the time to address in the 
first instance, by embassage, a summons to the sovereign 
against whom war was to be declared, and the fact, which is 
sufficiently attested by Ville-Hardouin, that on these occa- 
sions the Ambassadors were sometimes placed in no small 
peril of their lives. 

Page 312. Meanwhile, at sea, &c. 

For obvious reasons, justifiable, I trust, by the purposes and 



SIEGE OF CONSTANTINOPLE. 335 

privileges of art, the principal details of the two sieges have 
been thrown together, so as to present only a single picture. 

Page 322. Myrtillus, the one-eyebrowed, &c. 

For the sake of euphony, the Italian orthography of Mur- 
zoufle has been adopted. Th« name, I believe, implies the 
peculiar feature of its owner's physiognomy. He is said to 
have had but a single eyebrow, extending over both eyes, 
without interruption at the nose. Some say that he also 
squinted. • 



END OF BOOK VI. 



BOOK VII. 



ELEVENTH TO FIFTEENTH CENTURY. 



LEGENDS, BALLADS, AND ROMANCES. 



" Tins ist in alfcen moeren 

"VYunders vil geseit, 
VoQ helden lobeboeren, 

Von grozer kuonheit." 

Ber Nibelunge Noth. 



VOL. I. 



FAREWELL TO THE HOLY LANDS. 

(eleventh century.) 



1. 



HRICE, ho trumpeter, sound ! 

And around, and around 
With the merry red wine once more, 
friends ! 
Then to stirrup and selle. 
And away, — fare ye well, — 
For my ship is at hand on the shore, friends ! 




2. 

Shout ! for Baldwin hath ta'en 
All his own back again. 

And well for the brave right hands 
That have won by the rood. 
From the Infidel brood, 

God his ground in the Holy Lands ! 



3. 

Here 's, from each and from all. 

To the old Amiral ! 
Fair weather to him and his bark ! 

For a King among kiiigs 

Is the Lion with wings, 
The strong lion of stout Saint Mark ! 



340 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

4. 

And here 's now to the worth 
Of the West and the North, 

The hearts of the North and the West ! 
And the eyes and the lips 
Of those sweet she-slips 

Of the East, that we each loved best ! 

5. 

Friend, praise me the dame, 

Whose so soft southern name 
I never could learn how to say, 

Though I well know the bliss 
Of her soft southern kiss 
That hath kissed better knowledge away ; 

6. 

And I '11 pledge you that Greek 
Learned Lady's loved cheek, 

And the depth of her dark eye-glance. 
All whose praises you sung 
In the great Latin tongue 

Through the gardens of golden Byzance. 



Prithee shine out afar, 
Thou red-eyed Even Star, 

Shine over the seas and the sands ! 
And so light me again 
To the wood, hill, and plain 

Where mine own pleasant castle stands. 



FAREWELL TO THE HOLY LANDS. 341 

8. 

Far in Thiiringenwald, 

Far in Thiiringenwald, 
There the nightingale calls for mc 

Through the dewy spring night, 

When the walls glimmer white 
To the moon on the long dark lea. 

9. 

Farther still, o'er the Baltic, 
Old friend, black, basaltic, 

With the whirlwind grim in his grip, 
There your castle awaits. 
Behind close-cullised gates, 

The sound of that horn at your hip : 

10. 

Like a snowdrop, so white, 

Shy, tender, and slight. 
In the Avindow your little daughter 

Is at watch for a sail, 

When the twilight is pale 
O'er the vast Suevonian water. 



11. 

But in Thiiringenwald, 
in Thiiringenwald, 

?Jy good wife is waiting me. 

While the nightingale sings 
To her marvellous things 

Of the deeds done over the sea. 



34a CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

12. 

Western star, merry star, 

Glitter fair, glitter far 
To the silvery northern climes ! 

Blow ye sea-breezes SAveet, 

Blowing homeward, and greet 
My lady ten million times ! 

13. 

Eare thee well, friend, and leader ! 

And farewell to thee. Cedar 
On Lebanon ! Fare ye well, too. 

Sweet Cyprus and Sicily ! 

Ah, beck not so busily, 
"We shall not weigh anchor for you. 

14. 

Ye soft-eyed siren maids, 
In the rich-scented shades 

Of your rose-bearing gardens yonder ! 
We have wives over there 
Of our own, all as fair, — 

Ear more fair, as I think, — and fonder. 

15. 

Eor the rest of my life. 
Save my old hunting-knife. 

Not a weapon will I wear now : 

And your bow and seal-spear. 
Friend of mine, you shall bear 

Henceforth but in sport, or for show. 



FAEE'WELL TO THE HOLY LANDS. 

16. 

"We will hang up our mail 
On a great golden nail, 

And dispute which is bruised the sorest. 
In a doublet of green 
I will follow my Queen 

Through the old Thuringian Forest ! 



343 




344 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 
DOGE ORSO'S NIGHT'S WORK. 

(ELEVENTH CENTURY.) 
1. 

N woful plight, a piteous sight, 
The Exarch was that day 
"We Venice men sat round to hear 
The tale he came to say. 

2. 

" The Greek hath lost, with little cost, 
The Lombard he hath won 

To the iron crown, the stoutest town 
That stands beneath the sun : 

3. 

" For, while the old wolf Luitprand 
Was fighting for the Franks, 

His wily nephew Hildebrand, 
Among whose robber ranks 

4. 
" Vicenza's Duke rode unabashed, 

Hath seized Ravenna town, 
And from the Imperial city dashed 

The Imperial standard down." 

5. 

A joyful man the Exarch was 
The morrow of that day 



DOGE ORSO'S NIGHTS WORK. 

"We Venice men set sail again 
To seize the Lombard's prey. 

6. 

At close of day Ravenna lay 

Before us on the height : 
We dropped adown beneath the town 

After the fall of night : 

7. 

At fall of night there was no light, 
There was no noise of bells : 

Without a sound we ran aground, 
And fixed our mang-onels : 



At mid of night was sound and light 
Through all Ravenna town : 

Loud rang the bells above the yells 
Of thousands trampled down : 

9. 

At ope of day in fetters lay 
The Lombard Hildebrand : 

The town was ours : about the towers 
We roamed, a merry band. 

10. 

The fight, God wot, was short and 
" Bear Hildebrand aboard. 

Renew your oath," Doge Orso quoth, 
'' And take your lawful lord. 



345 



346 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

11. 

" The Duke is dead," he laughed, and said, 

" The city is all our own. 
Stand forth Exarch ! To thee Saint Mark 

Gives back Ravenna town." 

12. 

Then all outright for great delight 

The Exarch Avept, I trow. 
As he had woful been before. 

So was he joyful now. 

13. 

By that night's cost the Lombard lost, 

What our Duke Orso won 
With great renown, the stoutest town 

That stands beneath the sun. 




SALZBURGENSIS VAGABUNDUS. 347 
SALZBURGENSIS VAGABUNDUS. 

(THIRTEENTH CENTURY.) 

AX DEI VOBISCUM! We are, by 
your leave, friends, 
Three poor travelling scholai*s. All the 
more vs^e grieve, friends. 
That now-a-days good wine 's so dear, and learning 

still so cheap, alas ! 
O ghost of good Archbishop Reinhold, you for us 

would weep Alas ! 
But you have left this wicked world, and you are 

gone to glory. 
Mihi est propositum in tabemd mai^i ! 
All the way from Salzburg here, in thi^ season 

blowy, 
Bitter blue the hill-tops were, bleak the roads and 

snowy. 
Sure, a man must warm his wits when the weather 

pinches. 
And the snow 's above his boots some half-dozen 

inches ! 
We from hostle on to hostle, thirsting to replenish 
Empty bellies and dry throttles with a flask of 

Rhenish, 
Set the Muses up for sale, — liquor begged for 

learning, 
Not a doit for all our pains from the numskulls 

earning. 
Little favor didst thou get, great Horatius Flaccus, 



348 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Of our thick-skulled Thaliarchs swilling German 
Bacchus ! 

rolly's citadel resists each classic catapulta, 

Penitus inut'dis, penitusque stulta ! 

Lord ! you should have seen the looks of those un- 
latined laics, 

Hailed in choice hexameters, and sued to in alca- 
ics ! 

Hairy Jews with money-hags : troopers from Pa- 
via : 

Hamburgers, and Bamhergers .... Herr Josef ! 
Frau Maria ! 

Zum Teuffel ! groans my yellow Jew ; the trooper 
growls va via ! 

Zounds ! I wish those Jews, with all my heart, into 
.... Judaea ! 

Barefoot trots the begging Muse among this ha- 
rum-scarum. 

Zyoca vitant piiblica quidam poetarum. 

Snug as hedgehog hid in hedge, most comforta- 
bly curled up, 

And looking not a whit less proud than if it 
wrapped the world up, 

Safe upon the mountain-side, secured from all in- 
fraction, 

And reckless how the plain may fare, in high self- 
satisfaction 

Smiled this blessed burg ; — resolved we three 
should make a climb of it. 

And cool as Lot's small city when the rest had a 
hot time of it. 

« Vides," then <' ut altd " . . . . there . . . . " siet 
nive " . . . . shouted Hax to us, 

And Fritz , ..." 'T is not good wine, I trust, the 
little city lacks ! " to us. 



SALZBURGENSIS VAGABUNDUS. 349,, 

'' Deprome," thi&n, "quadrimum" I .... so here we 

are among yon, 
Praying the Lord, good gentlefolks, your good 

lives to prolong you ! 
There 's in us a thirsty devil raging to consume 

us. 
Salutemus igitur hihuli qui sumiis ! 
Sure, you have n't heard the news ? The Hohen- 

staufen .... Zooks there ! 
Is that mine host's fair daughter ? 'Faith, I knew 

her by her looks there. 
Ilia formosissimis tain nota virgo hracMis! 
The brute that's not in love with her no better 

than a lackey is ! 
What 's the little lady's name ? To Lina rhymes 

divina. 
Dear demozel, if I were Rex, I know who 'd be 

Regina. 
See her foot and ankle fine ! if you 'd a soul for 

beauty 
You 'd fit me with the proper phrase .... egregla 

juventute ! 
Sir, will 3^ou buy an epitaph for your now-sainted 

lady 1 
Something pious, chaste, and sweet, to suit the 

yew-trees shady? 
HaXj.here, with his lantern jaws .... Beseech you 

only try Hax ! 
He '11 turji you off in half a trice a score of elegiacs. 
Sic solamine non carehis for the dear departed. 
Or you, young lord, a love-song fierce, impassioned, 

fiery-hearted. 
For your heart's queen with strong black eyes 

.... or blue 1 It matters little. 



350 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Fritz there, with his woman's face, will paint her 

to a tittle. 
Fritz knows all the pretty things in Ovid and 

Tibullus, 
For all his looks demure .... non facit monachiun 

cucullus. 
Whate'er you want we'll furnish you, cantandum 

aut scribendum, 
But if you want a drink-song, come to me for Nunc 
. hihendum! 



A KING AND A QUEEN. 



351 



A KING AND A QUEEN. 

WILLIAM OF LORIS TO THE LADT OF THE KOSE. 




ISE, my Queen, and away with me 



From the kingdoms where I am King 
Two Spirits to lead me to thee 

Have outspeeded the wild-bird's wing. 



Eor the sake of thy dear dark eyes 
My soul have I given this Twain ; 

Who are pledged to win me the prize 
I die if I do not obtain : 

3. 

Yet they are not Spirits accurst, 
But each is a delicate Sprite ; 

And Sleep is the name of the first. 
The name of the second is Nisrht. 



O hearken ! hearken ! Our horses 
Are waiting for thee and for me. 

More fleet than the wind in his courses. 
More strong than the hurricanes be. 



They shall bear ns, nor ever tire, 
Over hollow, and hill, and stream 



352 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

The name of the one is Desire, 
The name of the other is Dream. 



Away ! I am thine, thou art mine : 
One body, and spirit, and heart ! 

Stoop ! midsummer leaps in the wine 
I pour to thee, ere we depart. 



List ! midsummer melodies stray 

From the strings of my throbbing lute. 

With music to lead us away 

Through the dim world starry and mute ! 

8. 

The lute is of fanciful fashion. 

The wine strong, and tender, and bright : 
And the name of the wine is Passion, 

The name of the lute is Dehght. 

9. 

On the strand is anchored my boat : 

It is built to live in all seas : 
We have but to set it afloat. 

It will bear us far as we please : 

10. 

For it is so light that, in sooth, 

'T will sink not, though loaded with treasures 
The name of the helmsman is Youth, 

The crew that he pilots ai'e Pleasures. 



A KING AND A QUEEN. 353 

11. 

But linger not now, for 't is late, 

And we have the world to go through. 

Poor world ! 't is in such a sad state, 
It surely hath need of us two ; 

12. 

So much that needs setting to rights ! 

Hate, massacre, murder, and war .... 
But .... how sweet are these midsummer nights ! 

Shall we let things rest as they are "? 

13. 

At least we must travel in state, 

Since a king and a queen are we : 
And scatter our largesse, elate 

And lavish as monarchs should be. 

14. 

Before us our herald shall go : 

And their gates all cities shall ope. 
When his clarion he doth blow, 

For our herald his name is Hope : 

15. 

Our almoner cometh behind. 

And he singeth a saintly hymn : 
He is wealthy, and wise, and kind. 

Gentle Memory men call him. 

16. 

To the sweet, the afar, the unseen, 
Fair, joyous, majestic, and free, 
VOL. I. 23 



354 



CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Lead by Sleep and by Night, my Queen, 
Away, through the world, now, with me ! 

17. 

And the world shall do us sweet duty, 
As royally through it we move : 

For thou art a queen — thou art Beauty ! 
And I am a king — I am Love ! 



FAIR YOLAND. 



355 



FAIR YOLAND WITH THE YELLOW 
HAIR. 




KNIGHT that wears no lady's sleeve 
Upon his helm from dawn to eve. 
And all night long beneath the throng 



Mi 

Ij^U Of throbbing stars, without reprieve 

My moan I make, as on I ride 
Along waste lands and waters wide. 
The haunts of bitterns ; smoky strips 
Of sea-coast where there come no ships ; 
Or over brambl}^ humpbacked downs, 
And under walls of hilly towns, 
And out again across the plain, 
Oft borne beneath a hissing rain 
Within the murmurs of the wind, 
That doth at nightfall leave his lair 
To follow and vex me •, till I find 
Fair Yoland with the yellow hair. 



II. 

On a field azure, all pure or, 

A fountain springing evermore 

To reach one star that, just too far 

For its endeavor, trembles o'er 

The topmost spray its strength will yield. 

For my device upon my shield 

Long since I wrought ; and under it 

Along a scroll of flame is writ 



356 CHRONICLES AND CIIARACTEBS. 

The legend, thus . ..." I shall attain. 
In letters large : albeit " In vain ! " 
My heart replies to mock mine eyes ; 
For Avhere that fountain seems to rise 
Its highest, it is back consigned 
To earth, and falls in void despair. 
Like my sad seven-years' hope to find 
Fair Yoland with the yellow hair. 

III. 

Seven years ago (how long it seems 
Since then !) as free as summer streams 
My fancy played with sun and shade, 
And all my days were dim with dreams. 
One day — I wot not whence nor how 
It flashed upon me, even now 
I marvel at the change it wrought ! — 
My Avhole life leapt into one thought. 
Which thought was made my lifelong act ; 
As, dashed in dazzling cataract. 
From its long sleeps, at last outleaps 
Some lazy ooze, which henceforth keeps 
One steadfast way ; so all my mind 
Was in that moment made aware 
That henceforth I must die, or find 
Fair Yoland with the yellow hair. 

IV. 

Since then, how many lands and climes 
Have I ransacked — how many times 
Been bruised with blows — how many foes 
Have dealt to death — how many crimes 
Avenged — how many maidens freed ! 



FAIR YOLAND., 357 

And yet I seem to be, indeed, 

No nearer to the endless quest. 

Neither by night nor day I rest : 

My heart burns in me like a fire : 

My soul is parehed with long desire : 

Ghostlike I grow : and where I go, 

I hear men mock and mutter low, 

And feel men's fingers point behind, — 

" The moon-struck knight that talks to air ! 

Lord help the fool who hopes to find 

Fair Yoland with the yellow hair ! " 



At times, in truth, I start, and shake 
Myself from thought, as one men wake 
From some long trance to hard mischance, 
Who knows not yet what choice to make 
'Twixt false and true, since all things seem 
Mere fragments of his broken dream. 
When I recall what men aver, 
That all my lifelong quest of her 
Is vain and void ; since thrice (say they) 
Three hundred years are rolled away. 
And knights forgot, whose bones now rot, 
And their good deeds remembered not. 
Failed one by one, long ere I pined 
For this strange quest ; whence they declare 
No living wight may hope to find 
Fair Yoland with the yellow hair. 

VI. 

Ah me ! . . . . For Launcelot maketh cheer 
With great-eyed, glorious Guinevere ; 



358 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

In glad green wood ; with Queen Isoud 

Tristram of Lyones hunts the deer ; 

In cool of bloomy trellises 

Sir Gareth and Sir Gaheris, 

After long labors brought to end, 

With their two dames in joyanec spend 

The blue June hours ; Sir Agravaine 

With Dame Laurell along the main 

Seeks his new home ; and Pelleas 

Sits smiling calm in halls of glass 

At Nimue's knees. Good knights be these 

Because they have their hearts at ease, 

Because their lives and loves are joined : 

O if two hearts in one life were. 

What life were that ! . . . . God, let me find 

Fair Yoland with the yellow hair ! 



VII. 

Mere life is vile. I may have done 

Deeds not unworthy, and have won 

Unwilling fame ; though all men blame 

This heart's unrest which makes me shun 

The calm content that good men take 

From good deeds done for good deeds' sake. 

Deeds that in doing of the deed 

Do bless the doer, Avho should need 

No bliss beyond : but what to me 

Is this, — that over land and sea 

My name should fly "? Or what care I, 

Tor the mere sake of climbing high, 

To climb forever steps that wind 

Up empty towers '? I only wear 

Life hollow thus, unless I find 

Fair Yoland with the vellow hair. 



FAIR YOLAND. 



VIII. 



359 



Sometimes, whom I to free from wrong 

Have dragons fought, strange folk do throng 

About my steed, and hghtly lead 

My horse and me, with shout and song, 

In bannered castle-courts ; and there 

From chambers cool come dames most fair, 

Whose forms as through a cloud I see ; 

Whose voices seem far off to be ; 

Though near they stand, and bid me rest 

Awhile within, where, richly drest. 

In order stored, with goblets poured, 

I see the sparkling banquet-board ; 

But far from these is all my mind, 

For . . . . " What if foes, whom I must scare, 

In noisome den now seek to bind 

Fair Yoland with the yellow hair ? " 

IX. 

In deepest dark, when no moon shines 

Through the blind night on the black pines 

With bony boughs, if I, to drowse 

(As sometimes mere despair inclines 

A frame outworn), should slip from horse. 

And lay me down along the gorse. 

In some cold hollow far away 

A little while, — albeit I pray 

Ere I lie down, — my dreams are drear : 

First comes a slowly creeping fear, 

Like icy dew, that seems to glue 

My limbs to earth, and freeze them through ; 

Then a long shriek on a wild wind. 

And " 0," I think, " if hers it were, 



360 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

And I a murdered corpse should find 
Fair Yoland with the yellow hair ! " 



X. 

Sometimes 'neath dropping white rose-leaAes 
I ride, and under gilded eaves 
Of garden bowers where, plucking flowers. 
With scarlet skirts and stiff gold sleeves, 
Between green walls, and two by two, 
Kings' daughters walk, whilst just a few 
Eaint harps make music mild, that falls 
Like mist from off the ivied walls 
Along the sultry corn, and stirs 
The hearts of far-off harvesters ; 
Then, on the brink of hope, I shrink 
With shuddering strange, the while I think, 
" O, what if, after body and mind 
Consumed in toil, and all my care, 
Not a corpse, but a bride, I find 
Fair Yoland with the yellow hair /? " 

XI. 

But when at night's most lonely noon, 

The ghost of an ill-buried moon 

Frets in the shroud of a cold cloud, 

And, like the echo of a tune. 

Within mine ear the silence makes 

A yearning sound that throbs and aches, 

A whisper sighs , . . . " The grave is deep, 

There is no better thing than sleep. 

Life's fever speeds its own decease. 

Let the mole work : be thou at peace." 

Yet why should this fair earth, which is 



FAIR YOLAND. 361 

So fair, so fit to furnish bliss, 
Prove a mere failure, — stuff designed 
By Ho^De to clothe her foe Despair ? 
And whence, if vain, this need to find 
Fair Yoland with the vellow hair 7 



XII. 

This grieving after unknown good. 

Though but a sickness in the blood, 

Cries from the dust. And God is just. 

No rock denies the raven food. 

For who would torture, night by night. 

Some starving creature with the sight 

Of banquets fair with plenty spread. 

Then mock . . . . " crawl empty thou to bed. 

And dream of viands not for thee ! " 

Yet night by night, dear God, to me. 

In wake or sleep, such visions creep 

To gnaw my heart with hunger deep. 

How can I meet dull death, resigned 

To die the fool of dreams so fair ? 

Nay, love hath seen, and life shall find. 

Fair Yoland with the yellow hair ! 

XIII. 

Good Pilgrim, to whatever shrine. 
With whatsoever vows of thine. 
Thou wendest, stay ! I charge thee, pray 
That God may bless this quest of mine. 
Sweet maidens, whom from losel hands 
Mine own have freed — in many lands, 
I bid you each, when ye shall be 
With your good knights, remember me ! 



362 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

And wish me well, — that some day I 
May find fair Yoland ; else I die 
In love's defeat. To die were sweet, 
If, dying, I might clasp her feet. 
Death comes at last to all mankind ; 
Yet ere I die, I know not where, 
I know not how, but I must find 
Fair Yoland with the yellow hair. 




TRIAL BY COMBAT. 363 



TRIAL BY COMBAT. 

HE doleful wind around around 
The turret, trying to enter here, 
Whines low, while down in the court- 
yard drear 

The great bloodhound, to the flint fast bound, 

Is baying the moon. The moon is clear 

And dismal-cold : because a Fear, 

Whose cat's-foot falls with no more sound 

Than an eyelid that sinks on a sick man's swound. 

Is lord of her light ; Avhereby to-night 

lie walketh alone on the frozen mere 

From the wood whence he cometh anear, — anear ! 

Ever, about the setting in 

Of the darkness, now for a month or more, 

The things on the gusty arras 'gin 

To rustle and creep and mope and grin 

At me, still sitting as heretofore 

This last sad night (no whit less calm 

Than when first he accused me a month before). 

With elbow based on knee, and palm 

Upslanted, propping a moody chin ; 

The better to watch with a glassy eye 

The dull red embers drop, and lie 

Forlorn of a lurid inner light. 

Like days burned out by a deadly sin. 

I marvel much if my mind be right. 

All seems so wondrous calm within 

This long o'er-labored heart, in spite 

Of the howling wind and the hideous night. 



364 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

And to-morrow that bringeth the final fight 
When all is to lose or win. 

What matter the end, so it be near ? 
I can only think of how last year 
We rode together, she and I : 
She in scarlet and I in green, 
Across the oak-wood dark and high. 
Whose wicked leaves shut out the sky ; 
Which, had I seen, that had not been, 
I think, which makes me fear to die 
And meet her there. I could not bear 
Her dead face e'en. Who else, I ween, 
Should hardly shrink from Conrad's eye, 
For all his vaunting, not so keen, 
The too-soon boasting braggart, (ay. 
Even when he strode before the Queen, 
And three times charged me with the lie !) 
As my keen axe. More glad that day 
She was, sure, than 't is good to be. 
Lest some, that cannot be so glad 
As she was then, should chance go mad, 
Trying to laugh. 0, all the way 
She laughed so loud that even the wood 
Laughed too. She seemed so sure, that day, 
That life is sweet and God is good. 
I could not laugh ; because her hood 
Had fallen back, and so let stray 
Of all her long hair's loveliness 
A single shining yellow tress 
Across her shoulder ; which made me 
(That could not choose, poor fool ! but see) 
More sad, I think, than men should be 
When women laugh. The wood, I say, 
Laughed with her, at me, all the v/ay. 



TRIAL BY COMBAT. 365 

Once, too, her palfrey, while we rode. 
Started aside, and in alarm 
She leaned her hand upon my arm ; 
Whose light touch did so overload 
My heavy heart, that, I believe, 
Had she a moment longer so 
Leaned on me, from my saddle-bow 
I must have dropped down dead. 

Near eve 
We came out on the other land. 
And I remember that I said, 
" How still and lone the land is here ! " 
She only looked, and shook her head, 
And, looking, laughed still louder, and 
Said, laughing loudly, " What 's to fear 1 " 
The accurse'd echo, that low lay 
Under that lonesome land, I knew, 
For want of aught more wise to say, 
Shrieked, " Fear ! " and fell a-laughing too. 
Deep melancholy meadow-grass, 
Which never any man had mown. 
So long our horses scarce could pass 
Through the thick-heaped unheaving mass 
Of heavy stalks, by no breath blown 
Of any wind, all round was grown, 
For some bad purpose of its own, 
Up to the edge of the gray sky. 
And underneath a stream ran by : 
A little stream that made great moan, 
Half mad with pain, the Fiend knows why : 
'TAvixt stupid heaps of helpless stone, 
That chose upon its path to lie 
Unreasonably, purpose none 



366 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Subserving (there resolved to stay 

For spite's sake, w^ith nor use nor grace). 

It pushed and dashed at despei-ate pace, 

In extreme haste to get away. 

The owls might fly about by day, 

For all the sky, there, had to say ; 

Which took no care to change its face 

To any other hue but gray. 

Having to light up such a place. 

But for the moan of that mad stream 

All things Avere dumb, resigned, and still, 

And strange, as things are in a dream. 

The whole land self-surrendered lay, 

And let harsh Nature work her will. 

For lack of strength to answer nay 

To any sort of wrong or ill 

That chose to vex it. Laughing gay 

Into that lonesome land rode she. 

The grass above her palfrey's knee 

"Was long and green as green could be. 

She, laughing as she rode, 'gan trill 

Some canzonet or virelay ; 

It mattered little, good or ill, 

Whate'er the song, if any way 

It eased her heart of laughter shrill. 

Of trees were only blackthorns three. 

Low-clumped upon the ugly hill, 

Like witches when, to watch the weather, 

They crook their backs and squat together. 

We 'lighted down beneath those trees 
Whereto did I our horses tether ; 
And on a bough I hung my shield. 
She went up higher in the field, 



TRIAL BY COMBAT. 367 

And down her long limbs laid at ease 
In the deep grass ; which up and down, 
"Wave after wave of green, heaved over 
Her bright gold-bordered scarlet gown ; 
And all but her small face did cover. 
For now, out of some land unshorn 
Behind the grassy upland, low, 
A little wind began to blow 
Faintly, and the dull air was strown 
With a moist sickly scent of clover. 

She, slanted o'er her propping arm. 
Looked smiling sidewa3's with a charm 
To catch me ; while, now forwards, now 
Backwards, she sw^ung with saucy brow 
Her gold curls, like a gorgeous snake 
That lifts and leans on lolling fold 
A lustrous head, but half awake 
From winter dreams when, coy and cold. 
Spring stirs about the rustling brake. 
She called me to her through the grass : 
She called me " Friend " : she said I was 
Her Ritter of the rueful face : 
" But I," she said, " am never sad." 
Therewith she laughed. The hateful place 
Laughed too : resolved to make me mad. 
I went, and sat beside her there, v 

And gazed upon her glittering hair. 
Musing, I said : " 'T will soon be night ; 
Night must be very lonely here." 
She lookied at me, and laughed outright. 
And, laughing, answered, " What 's to fear ? " 
But " Fear ! " the echo, laughing light. 
Still added. It was hard to bear. 



368 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Long sat I silent in her sight, 

Much musing. When I spoke at last 

It may have been that all I said 

Marred all I meant, — for there was passed, 

Like burning lead, about my head 

And on my brain, a heavy pain. 

And, " Oh/' I cried, " if it would rain, 

And bring some change ! " — Yet this I know, 

That, soon as I had ended, she 

Looked through her glittering hair at me. 

Full in my face, and laughed again, 

And answered, " Never ! let this be 

A thing forgot between us t^vain." 

So, back beneath the blackthorn-tree, 

Where my shield hung, I went away 

A little while, and sat apart. 

I could not speak : I could not pray : 

I thought it was because my heart 

W^as in my throat, — it choked me so ! 

But now the devil's claw, I know. 

It was, that would not let mc go ; 

Me by the throat so fast he had. 

Enough ! You think that I went mad ? 

By no means. I grew strong and wise, 

Went back, looked boldly in her eyes. 

And stopped her laughing. It was she. 

Not I, that trembled. I could see 

The woman was afraid of me. 

What wonder 1 I myself had been 

Already, such a woful long 

Wild while (even ere he waxed thus strong, 

And let his wicked face be seen) 

Afraid, too, of the fiend within 

My heart ; whereof she was the Queen, 



TRIAL BY COMBAT. 369 

Feeding him with the food of sin, 

Forbidden beauty. Then I knew 

That she was all mine through and through, 

Whatever I might choose to do. 

Mine, from the white brow's hiding-place 

Under the roots of golden hair 

That glittered round her frightened face ; 

Mine, from the warmth and odor there 

Down to the tender feet that were 

Mine too to guess in each great fold 

Of scarlet bound about with gold. 

So I grew dainty with my pleasure ; 

And, as a miser counts the treasure 

His heart is loath to spend too fast. 

So did mine eye take note and measure 

Of all my new-gained wealth. At last 

The Fiend, impatient to be gone, 

Brought this to end. 

"When all was done, 
I seemed to know what was to be. 
And how 't would fare henceforth with me. 
Who must ride home now all alone : 
I knew that I should never see 
The face of God, nor ever hear 
Her laugh again. And so it was. 
Yet 't was not mine, that blow, I swear. 
Nor did I know it, till the grass 
Was red and wet. When Conrad tries 
To charge me with that deed, he lies ! 
And lies ! and lies ! Who could have guessed 
That she had hidden in her breast, 
Or in her girdle, (what know II) 
A dagger ? Did she mean to die 
VOL. I. 24 



370 CniiONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Always, — even when she seemed so proud, 

So sure of life 1 Ay, when so loud 

She laughed that day ? I only know 

I would have given these two hands. 

The moment I beheld her so, 

Ay, all ray lordships, all my lands. 

If but on me had fallen that blow, 

Not her. O what were Hell's worst pain 

If I might hear her laugh again 1 

It must have been an hour or more 
I think (it seemed long years) before 
I, sitting there beside her still. 
And listening, heard a sound of rain 
In the three blackthorns on the hill. 
" Too late it comes," I thought, " and vain, 
For nothing here will change now." Chill 
The evening grew. A wet wind blew 
About the billowy grass. A few 
Large drops fell sullenly. I thought, 
" How cold she will be here all night 
In this wet meadow ! " Then I caught 
(For by this time her lips were white. 
Not red ; nor warm, but rigid quite) 
At the tall grass, and heaped and massed 
Great handfuls of it, which I cast 
Over her feet, and on her face ; 
But first drew down her scarlet gown 
Over her limbs composed and meek 
In great calm folds ; and, o'er her cheek, 
Smoothed the bright hair ; and all the place 
Where the black redness oozed, I hid 
With heaps of grass. All this I did 
Quite quietly, as a mother might 



TRIAL BY COMBAT. 371 

Put her sick child to sleep. 'T was night 
Ere I had ended. A dull moon 
Across the smearing rain revealed 
A melancholy light, and soon 
Began to peer about the field 
To find what still the fresh grass kept 
Well hidden. Then I think I crept 
Down to the little stream ; and stood 
A long while looking at the wood, 
Wondering what ever I should do. 
There was a spot of blood I knew 
Upon ray hand. I did not dare 
To wash it, lest the water there 
Too far away the stain should bear. 
And so make all the world aware 
Of what was done. 

The cock crows — hark ! 
Before his time, sure. Deep in dark 
The drowsy land is lying yet. 
Yon frosty cloud hides up the raoon. 
But I am sure she is not set. 
To-morrow ? Is it come so soon ? ■ 

Well, let it come ! A hundred eyes 
Can make no worse the eyes I scorn. 
For in his throat Count Conrad lies, 
And on his body am I sworn 
To prove the same this very morn. 
Let Kaiser Henry range his state ; 
To mark the issue of my fate, 
The lords of every Landgravate 
From Rhine to Rhone, with looks elate. 
Like gods between the earth and sky. 
May crowd each golden balcony. 



372 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Come, Kaiser, call the fight ! 

Let the great trumpet blare on high 

As though the Judgment Angel blew 

The blast that bids the wicked, rue ; 

Now, Conrad, to the lists, and. smite 

Thy very worst ! I reck not, I, 

Not though the dead should come to sight, 

Nor though a hundred heralds cry, 

" On ! God maintain the right ! " 




RABBI BEN EPHR AIM'S TREASURE. 373 

EABBI BEN EPHRAIM'S TREASURE. 

persecution of the jews in spain. 

(fifteenth century.) 

I. 

l]HE days of Rabbi Ben Ephraim 
Were twoscore years and ten, the day 
The hangman called at last for him, 
And he privily fled from Cordova. 
Drop by drop, he had watched the cup 
Of the wine of bitterness filled to the brim ; 
Drop by drop, he had drained it up ; 
And the time was an evil time for him. 
An evil time ! For Jehovah's face 
Was turned in wrath from his chosen race, 
And the daughter of Judah must mourn. 
Whom his anger had left, in evil case. 
To be dogged by death from place to place, 
With garments bloody and torn. 
The time of the heavy years, from of old 
By the mouth of his servant the Prophet foretold, 
In the days of Josiah the king. 
When the Lord upon Jacob his load should bring. 
And the hand of Heaven, in the day of his ire, 
Be heavy and hot upon son and sire, 
Till from out of the holes into which they were 

driven 
Their bones should be strewn to the host of Heaven 
Whose bodies Avere burned in the fire. 



374 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Rabbi Ben Ephraim, day by day 

(As the hangman, beating up his bounds 

Through the stifled Ghetto's sinks and stews, 

Or the Arch Inquisitor, going his rounds, 

Was pleased to pause, and pick, and choose, — 

Too sure of his game, which could not stray, 

To miss the luxury of delay) 

Had marked with a moody indignation 

The abomination of desolation, 

With the world to witness, and none to gainsay. 

Set up in the midst of the Holy Nation, 

And the havoc, which Heaven refused to stay, 

In the course of his horrible curse move on, 

Where, sometimes driven in trembling crews, 

Sometimes singly, one by one, 

Israel's elders were beckoned away 

To the place where; the Christians burn the Jews : 

Till he, because that his wealth was known, 

And because the king had debts to pay. 

Was left, at the last, almost alone 

Of all his people in Cordova, 

A living man picked out by fate 

To bear, and beware of, the daily jibe. 

And add the same to the sum of the hate, 

Made his on behalf of a slaughtered tribe. 



II. 

In the gloomy Ghetto's gloomiest spot, 
A certain patch of putrid ground. 
There is a place of tombs : Moors rot, 
Rats revel there, and devils abound 
By night, no cross being there to keep 
The evil things in awe : the dead 



RABBI BEN EPHRAIArS TREASURE. 



375 



That house there, sleep no Christian sleep, — 

They do not sleep at all, it is said ; 

Though how they fai^e, the Fiend best knows, 

"Who never vouchsafes to them any repose, 

Tor their worm is awake in the narrow bed, 

And the fire that will never be quenched is fed 

On the night that will never close. 

There did Rabbi Ben Ephraim 

(When he saw, at length, the appointed measure 

Of misery meted out to him) 

Bury his books, and all his treasure. 

Books of wisdom many a one, — 

All the teaching of all the ages, 

All the learning under the sun. 

Learned by all the Hebrew sages 

To Eliphaz from Solomon ; 

Not to mention the mystic pages 

Of Nathan the son of Shimeon 

The Seer, which treat of the sacred use 

Of the number Seven (quoth the Jews, 

" A secret sometime filched from us 

By one called Apollonius "), 

The science of the even and odd, 

The signs of the letters Aleph and Jod, 

And the seven magical names of God. 

Furthermore, he laid in store 
Many a vessel of beaten ore. 
Pure, massy, rich with rai-e device 
Of Florence-work wrought under and o'er. 
Shekels of silver, and stones of price, 
Sardius, sapphire, topaz, more 
In number than may well be told, 
Milan stuffs, and merchandise 



376 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Of Venice, the many times bought and sold. 
He buried them deep where none might mark,— 
Hid them from sight of the hated race, 
Gave them in guard of the Powers of the Dark. 
And solemnly set his curse on the place. 
Then he saddled his mule, and with him took 
Zillah his wife, and Rachel his daughter. 
And Manassah his son ; and turned and shook 
The dust from his foot on the place of slaughter. 
And crossed the night, and fled away 
(Balking the hangman of his prey) 
From out of the city of Cordova. 



III. 

Rabbi Ben Ephraim nevermore 

Saw Cordova. For the Lord had willed 

That the dust should be dropped on his eyes before 

The curse upon Israel was fulfilled. 

Therefore he ended the days of his life 

In evil times ; and by the hand 

Of Rachel his daughter, and Zillah his wife, 

Was laid to rest in another land. 

But, before his face to the wall he turned. 

As the eyes of the women about his bed 

Grew hungry and hard with a hope unfed, 

And the misty lamp more misty burned, 

To Zillah and Rachel the Rabbi said 

Where they might find, if fate turned kind, 

And the fires in Cordova, grown slack. 

Should ever suiFcr their footsteps back. 

The tomb where by stealth he had buried his wealth 

In the evil place, when in dearth and lack 

He fled from the foe, and the stake, and the rack ; 



RABBI BEN EPHR AIM'S TREASURE. 



IV. 



377 



" A strand of colors, clear to be seen 

By the main black cord of it twined between 

The scarlet, the golden, and the green : 

All the length of the Moorish wall the line 

Kuns low with his mystic serpent-twine, 

Until he is broken against the angle 

"Where thin grizzled grasses dangle, 

Like dead men's hairs, from the weeds that clot 

The scurfy side of a splintered pot, 

Upon the crumbled cornice squat. 

Gaping, long-eared, in his hue and shape 

Like a Moor's head cut off at the nape. 

The line, till it touches the angle, follow. 

Take pebbles then in the hand and drop 

Stone after stone till the ground sounds hollow. 

Thence walk left, till there starts, to stop 

Your steps, a thorn-tree with an arm 

Stretched out as though some mad alarm 

Had seized upon it from behind. 

It points the way until you find 

A flat square stone, with letters cut. 

Stoop down to lift it, 't will not move. 

More than you move a mountain, but 

Upon the letter which is third 

Of seven in the seventh word 

Press with a finger, and you shove 

Its weight back softly, as the South 

Turns a dead rose lightly over : 

Back falls it, and there yawns earth's mouth ; 

Wherein the treasure is yet to discover, 

By means of a spiral cut down the abyss 

To the dead men." 



378 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 



V. 

When he had uttered this, 
Eabbi Ben Ephraim turned his face, 
And slept. 

VI. 

The years went on apace. 
Manassah his son, his youngest born, 
Trading the isleted sea for corn, 
Was wrecked and picked up by the smuggler boat 
Of a certain prowling Candiote ; 
And, being young and hale, was sold 
By the Greek a bondsman to the Turk. 
Zillah, his wife, waxed white and old. 
Rachel, his daughter, loved not work, 
But walked by the light of her own dark eyes 
In wicked ways for the sake of gain. 
MeauAvhile, Israel's destinies 
Survived the scorching stake, and Spain 
At length grew weary of burning men ; 
When hungered, and haggard, and gaunt, these 

tAVO 

Forlorn Jcav Avomen crept again 

Into Cordova ; because they kncAV 

Where Rabbi Ben Ephraim by stealth, 

When he turned his back on his own house-door, 

Had buried the Avhole of his wondrous wealth 

In the evil place ; and they two Avere poor. 

VII. 

So poor indeed, they had been constrained 
To filch from the refuse flung out to the streets 
('Mid the rags and onion-peelings rained 



RABBI BEN EPHR AIM'S TREASURE. 379 

Where the town's worst gutter's worst filth greets 

With his strongest gust and most savory sweets 

Those blots and failures of Human Nature, 

Refused a name in her nomenclature, 

That spawn themselves toward night, and bend 

To finger the husks and shucks heaped there) 

The wretched, rat-bitten candle-end 

Which, found by good luck, they had treasured 

with care 
Not a whit less solemn than though it were 
That famous work of the son of IJri, 
The candlestick of candlesticks, — 
He the long-lost light of Jewry, 
Whose almond bowls and scented wicks 
Were the boast of the desert, and Salem's glory 
Of the knops and flowers, with his branches six ! 
For this impov'rished, curtailed, flawed. 
Maltreated, worried, gnawed, and claAved 
Hemnant of what perchance made bright 
Once, for laughter and delight. 
Some chamber gay, with arras hung, 
Whose marbles, mirrors, and flowers among 
A lover, his lady's lute above. 
To a dear dark- eyelashed listener sung 
Of the flame of a never-dying love, — 
Little heeding, meanwhile, the fitful spite 
Of the night-wind's mad and mocking sprite, 
Which stealthily in at the lattice sprung, 
And was wrying the taper's neck apace, — 
Must now, with its hungry half-starved light, 
Make bold the shuddering flesh to face 
The sepulchre's supernatural night, 
And the Powers of the Dark keeping guard on the 

place. 



380 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

VIII. 

And when to the place of tombs they came, 

The spotted moon sunk. Night stood bare 

In the waste unlighted air, 

Wide-armed, waiting, and aware. 

To horribly hem them in. The flame 

The little candle feebly gave, 

As it winked and winced from grave to grave, 

Went fast to furious waste ; the same 

As a fever-famisht human hope 

That is doomed, from grief to grief, to grope 

On darkness blind to a doubtful goal. 

And, swayed by passion here and there 

In conflict with some vast despair. 

Consumes the substance of the soul 

In wavering ways about the world. 

The deep enormous night unfurled 

Her bannered blackness left and right. 

Fold heaped on fold, to mock such light 

With wild defiance ; no star pearled 

The heavy pall, but horror hurled 

Shadow on shadow; while for spite 

The very graves kept out of sight. 

And heaven's sworn hatred, winning might 

From earth's ill-will, with darkness curled 

Darkness, all space confounding quite. 

So to engender night on night. 



IX. 

" Hachel Rachel, for ye are tall, 
Lift the light along the wall." 



RABBI BEN EPHR AIM'S TREASURE. 381 

" Mother, mother, give me the hand. 
And follow!" 

" What see ye, Eaehel 1 " 

X. 

A strand 
Of chorded colors, clear to be seen 
By the main black dominant, twined between 
The scarlet, the golden, and the green. 

XI. , 

" Eachel, Rachel, ye walk so fast ! " 
" Mother, the light will barely last." 
" What see ye, Rachel 1 " 

XII. 

Things that dangle 
Hairy and gray o'er the wall's choked angle 
From something dull, in hue and shape 
Like a Moor's head cut off at the nape. 

XIII. 

" Once ! twice ! thrice ! . . . . the earth sounds 

hollow. 
Mother, give me the hand, and follow." 

" Rachel, the flame is backward blowing, 
Pusht by the darkness. Where are we going ? 
The ground is agroan with catacombs ! 
What see ye, Rachel 1 " 



382 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

XIV. 

Yonder comes 
A thorn-tree, with a desperate arm 
Flung out fierce in wild alarm 
Of something .which, it madly feels, 
The night to plague it yet conceals. 
No help it gets though ! An owl dashed out 
Of the darkness, steering his ghostliness thither, 
Pried in at the boughs, and passed on with a 

shout 
From Avho-knows-whence to who-knows-whither ; 
The unquiet Spirit abroad on the air 
Moved with a moan that way, and spent 
A moment or more in the effort to vent 
On the tortured tree which he came to scare 
The sullen fit of his discontent ; 
But, laughing low as he grew aware 
Of the long-already-imposed despair 
Of the terrified thing he had paused to torment. 
He passed, pursuing his purpose elsewhere. 
And followed the whim of his wicked bent : 
A rheumy glow-worm, come to peer 
Into the hollow trunk, crawled near, 
And glimmered awhile, but intense fear, 
Or tame connivance with something wrong 
Which the night was intending, quenched erelong 
His lantern. Therefore the tree remains, 
For all its gestures void and vain, 
Which still at their utmost fail to explain 
Any natural cause for the terror that strains 
Each desperate limb to be freed and away, 
In sheer paralysis of dismay 
Struck stark, — and so, night's abject, stands. 



RABBI BEN EPHR AIM'S TREASURE. 383 

XV. 

" Mother, the candle is cowering low- 
Beneath the night-gust : hoop both hands 
About the light, and stoop over, so 
The wind from the buffeted flame to shut, 
Lest at once in our eyes the darkness blow." 

" What see ye, Eachel 1 " 

XVI. 

A square stone cut 
With letters. Thick the moss is driven 
Through the graver's woi-k now blunt and blurred : 
There be seven words with letters seven : 
A finger-touch on the letter third 
Of seven in the seventh word, 
And the stone is heaved back : earth yawns and 

gapes : 
A cold strikes up the clammy dark, 
And clings : a spawn of vaporous shapes 
Floats out in films : a sanguine spark 
The taper spits : the snaky stair 
Gleams, curling down the abyss laid bare, 
Where Rabbi Ben Ephraim's treasure is laid. 

XVII. 

There they sat them down awhile. 

With that terrible joy which cannot smile 

Because the heart of it is staid 

And stunned, as it were, by a too-swift pace. 

And the wicked Presence abroad on the place 

So took them with awe that they rested afraid 

Almost to look into each other's face. 



384 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Moreover, the nearness of what should change, 

Like a change in a dream, their lives forever 

Into something suddenly bright and strange, 

Paused upon them, and made them shiver. 

The old Avoman mumbled at length : " I am old : 

I have no sight the treasure to find ; 

I have no strength to rake the red gold; 

My hand is palsied, mine eye is blind, 

Child of my bosom, I dare not descend 

To the horrible pit ! " 

And Rachel said : 
" I fear the darkness, I fear the dead ; 
But the candle is burning fast to the end : 
We waste the time with words. Look here ! 
There rests between us and the dark 
A few short inches. .... Mother, mark 
The wasting taper !....! should not fear 
Either the darkness or the dead. 
But for certain memories in my head 

Which daunt me We will go, avc twain, 

Together." 

The old woman cried again : 
" Child of my bosom, I will not descend 
To the horrible pit, — and the candle-end 
Is burping down, God curse the same ! 
I am old, and cannot help myself 
Young are ye ! What your beauty brings 
Who knows 1 I think ye keep the pelf. 
Ye will let me starve. So the serpent stings 
The bosom it lay in ! Are ye so tame 
Of spirit ? I marvel why we came. 
Poverty is the worst of things ! " 



RABBI BEN EPER AIM'S TREASURE. 385 

Eachel looked at the dwindling flame, 

And frowned, and muttered, " Mother, shame ! 

I fear the darkness, because there clings 

To my heart a thought, I cannot smother, 

Of certain things which, whatever the blame. 

Thou wottest of, and I will not name ; 

For my sins are many and heavy, mother. 

Yet because I hunger, and still would save 

Some years from sin, and because of my brother 

"Whom the Greek man sold to be slave to a slave, 

(May the Lord requite the lying knave ! ) 

I will go down alone to the pit. 

Thou, therefore, mother, watch, and sit 

In prayer for me, by the mouth of the grave. 

The light w^ill hai'dly last me, I fear. 

And what is to do must be quickly done. — 

Mercy on us, mother ! . . . . Look here ; 

Three inches more, and the light will be gone ! 

Quick, mother, the candle — quick ! I fear 

To be left in the darkness alone." 



XVIII. 

The mother sat by the grave, and listened. 
She waited : she heard the footsteps go 
Under the earth, wandering, slow. 
She looked : deep doAvn the taper glistened. 
Then, the voice of Rachel from below : 

" Mother, mother, stoop and hold ! " 

And she flung up four ouches of gold. 
The old woman counted them, ouches four, 
Beaten out of the massy ore. 
VOL. I. 25 



386 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

" Child of my bosom, blessed art thou ! 
The hand of the Lord be yet with thee ! 
As thou ai-t strong in thy spirit now, 
Many and pleasant thy days shall be. 
As a vine in a garden, fair to behold, 
Green in her branches, shalt thou grow, 
And so have gladness when thou art old. 
Rachel, Rachel, be thou bold ! 
More gold yet, and still more gold ! " 

" Mother, mother, the light burns low. 

The candle is one inch shorter now, 

And I dare not be left in the darkness alone." 

" Rachel, Rachel, go on ! go on ! 

Of thee have I said. She shall not shrink ! 

Thy brother is yet a bondsman, — think ! 

Yet once more, — and he is free. 

And whom shall he praise for this but thee? 

Rachel, Rachel, be thou bold ! 

Manassah is groaning over the sea. 

More gold yet, and still more gold ! " 

" Mother, mother, stoop and hold ! " 

And she flung up from below again 

Cups of the carven silver twain. 

Solid silver was each great cup. 

The old woman caught them as they came up. 

" Rachel, Rachel, well hast thou done ! 

Manassah is free. Go on ! go on ! 

Royal dainties forever be thine ! 

Rachel's eyes shall be red with wine, 

Rachel's mouth shall with milk be filled, 



RABBI BEN EPHRAI^FS TREASURE. 387 

And her bread be fat. I praise thee, my child, 

For surely thou hast freed thy brother. 

The deed was good, but there resteth another. 

And art thou not the child of thy mother 1 

Once more, Rachel, yet once more ! 

Thy mother is very poor and old. 

Must she close her eyes before 

They see the thing she would behold 1 

More gold yet, and still more gold ! " 

" Mother, the light is very low. 

The candle is wellnigh wasted now. 

And I dare not be left in the darkness alone." 

" Rachel, Rachel, go on ! go on ! 

Much is done, but there resteth more. 

Ye are young, Rachel, shall it be told 

That my bones were laid at my children's door ? 

More gold yet, and still more gold ! " 

" Mother, mother, stoop and hold ! " 

The voice came fainter from beneath ; 

And she flung up a jewelled sheath. 

The sheath was thick with many a gem ; 

The old woman carefully counted them. 

" Rachel, Rachel, thee must I praise, 

"Who makest pleasant thy mother's days. 

Blessed be thou in all thy ways ! 

Surely for this must I praise thee, my daughter, ' 

And therefore in fulness shalt thou dwell 

As a fruitful fig-tree beside the water 

That layeth her green leaves over the well. 

More gold, Rachel, yet again ! 



388 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

And we shall have houses and servants in Spain, 
And thou shalt walk with the wealthiest ladies. 
And fairest, in Cordova, Seville, or Cadiz, 
And thou shalt be wooed as a Queen should he, 
And tended upon as the proud are tended, 
And the algazuls shall doflf to thee, 
For thy face shall he brightened, thy raiment be 

splendid, 
And no man shall call thee an evil name. 
And thou shalt no longer remember thy shame, 
And thy mother's eyes, as she waxes old, 
Shall see the thing she would behold — 
More gold yet, and still more gold ! " 

" Mother, the light is very low — 
Out ! out ! . . . . Ah God, they are on me now ! 
Mother " (the old woman hears Avith a groan), 
" Leave me not here in the darkness alone ! " 

The mother sits by the grave, and listens. 
She waits : she hears the footsteps go 
Ear under the earth — bewildered — slow. 
She looks : the light no longer glistens. 
Still the voice of Rachel from below, 

<' Mother, mother, they have me, and hold ! 
Mother, there is a curse on thy gold ! 
Mercy ! mercy ! The light is gone, — 
Leave me not here in the darkness alone, — 
Mother, mother, help me and save ! " 

Still Rachel's voice from the grave doth moan. 
Still Rachel's mother sits bv the grave. 



CATTERINA CORN ABO. 



389 



CATTERINA CORNARO. 

(a PICTUEE. — A. D. 1470.) 




N Cyprus, where 'live Summer never 

dies. 
Love's native land is. There the seas, 

the skies, 

Are blue and lucid as the looks, the air 
Fervid and fragrant as the breath and hair 
Of Beauty's Queen ; whose gracious godship dwells 
In that dear island of delicious dells, 
'Mid lavish lights and languid glooms divine. 
There doth she her sly dainty sceptre twine 
With seabank myrtle spray, and roses sweet 
And full as, when the lips of lovers meet 
The first strange time, their sudden kisses be : 
There doth she lightly reign : there holdeth she 
Her laughing court in gleam of lemon groves : 
The wanton mother of unnumbered Loves ! 

What earthly creature hath Dame Venus' grace 

Dowered so divinely sweet of form and face 

As that she may, unshamed in Cupid's smile, 

Be sovereign lady of this lovely isle '? 

Sure, Venus, not so blind as some aver 

Was thy bold boy, what time, in search of her 

Thou bad'st him seek, he roamed the seas all 

round. 
And barbarous lands beyond ; since he hath found 



390 CUR ONI CLE S AND CHARACTERS. 

This wonder out ; whose perfect sweetness seems 
The fair fulfilment of his own fond dreams : 
And Kate Cornaro is the Island Queen. 



II. 

A Queen : a child : fair : happy : scarce nineteen ! 
In whose while hands her little sceptre lies, 
Like a new-gathered floweret, in surprise 
At being there. To keep her what she is, — 
A thing too rare for the familiar kiss 
Of household loves, — wifehood and motherhood, — 
Fit only to be delicately wooed 
With wooings fine and frolicsome as those 
Wherewith the sweet West avoos a small blush- 
rose, 
Her husband first, and then her babe, away 
Slipped from her sight, each on a summer day, 
Ere she could miss them, into the soft shade 
Of flowery graves. She doth not feel afraid 
To be alone. Because she hath her toy, 
Her pretty kingdom. And it is her joy 
To dandle the doll-people, and be kind 
And careful to it, as a child. Each wind 
O' the world on her smooth eyelids lightly breathes. 
As morn upon a lily whence frail wreaths 
Of little dew-drops hang, easily troubled. 
As such things are. The June sun's jov is doub- 

^ led. 
Shining through shadow in her golden hair. 
Light-wedded, and light-widowed, and unaware 
Of any sort of sorrow doth she seem ; 
Albeit the times are stormy, and do teem 
With tumult round her tiny throne. Primrose, 



CAT T ERIN A CORNARO. 



391 



Pert violet, hardy vetch, — no blossom blows 
In March less conscious of a cloudy sky, 
More sweet in sullen season. Days go by 
Daintily round her. If her crown's light weight 
Upon her forehead fair and delicate 
Leave the least violet stain, when laid away 
At close of some great summer holiday. 
Her lovers kiss the sweet mark smooth and white 
Ere it can pain her. She hath great delight 
In little things : and of great things small care. 
The people love her ; though the nobles are 
Wayward and wild. Yet fears she not, nor 

shrinks 
To show she fears not. " For in truth," she thinks, 
" My Uncle Andrew, and my Uncle Mark, 
Have care of me." And, truly, dawn or dark, 
These Uncles Mark and Andrew, busiest two 
In Cyprus, find no lack of work to do : 
Go up and down the noisy little state, 
Silent all day : and, when the night is late. 
Write letters, which she does not care to read, 
(The Ten, she knows, will ponder them with 

heed) 
To Venice — not so ftir from Cyprus' shore. 
But what the shadow of St. Mark goes o'er 
The narrow sea to touch her island throne. 



III. 

She is herself a dove from Venice flown 
Not so long since but what her snowy breast 
Is yet scarce warm within its new-found nest. 
Whence sino-s she o'er the grave of Giacomo 
Songs taught her by St. Mark. 



392 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Cristofero 

(He of the four stone shields which you may spy. 
Thrice striped, thrice spotted with the mulberry, 
In the great sunlight o'er that famous stair 
Whose marble white is warmed with rose-hues, 

where 
The crownings were once) wore the ducal horn 
In Venice, on that joyous July morn 
When all along the liquid streets, paved red 
With rich reflections of clear crimson spread. 
Or gorgeous orange gay with glowing fringe. 
From bustling balconies above, to tinge 
The lucid highways with new lustres, best 
Befitting that day's pride, the blithe folk pressed 
About St. Paul's, beneath the palace door 
Of JNIark Cornaro ; where the Bucentor 
Was waiting with the Doge ; to see Queen Kate 
Come smiling in her robes of marriage state 
Through the crammed causeway, glimmering down 

betAveen 
The sloped bright-banded poles, beneath the green 
Sea-weeded walls ; content to catch quick gleams 
Of her robe's tissue stiff with strong gold seams 
Trom throat to foot, or mantle's sweeping shine 
Of murrey satin lined with ermine fine. 
Flushing the white warmth it encircled glad, 
A sparkling karkanet of gems she had 
About her fair throat. Such strong splendors piled 
So heavily upon so slight a child 
Made Venice proud : because in little things 
Her greatness thus seemed greatest. 

His white wings 
The galley put forth from the blue lagoon. 



C ATT ERIN A CORNARO. 393 

The mellow disk of a mild daylight moon 
Was hanging wan in the warm azure air, 
When the great clarions all began to blare 
Earewell. And, underneath a cloudless sky 
Over a calmed sea, with minstrelsy. 
The baby Queen to Cyprus sailed 




394 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 
JACQUELINE. 

COUNTESS OF HOLLAND AND HAINAULT.* 
(1436.) 

S it the twilight, or my fading sight, 
Makes all so dim around me ? No, the 

night 
Is come already. See ! through yonder 
pane. 
Alone in the gray air, that star again — 
Which shines so wan, I used to call it mine 
For its pale face ; like Countess Jacqueline 
Who reigned in Brabant once .... that 's years 

ago. 
I called so much mine, then : so much seemed so ! 
And see, my own ! — of all those things, my star 
(Because God hung it there, in heaven, so far 
Above the reach and want of those hard men) 
Is all they have not taken from me. Then 
I call it still My Star. Why not 1 The dust 
Hath claimed the dust : no more. And moth and 

rust 
May rot the throne, the kingl}^ purple fray : — 
What then 1 Yon star saw kingdoms rolled away 
Ere mine was taken from me. It survives. 
But think, beloved, — in that high life of lives, 
When our souls see the suns themselves burn low 
Before that Sun of Bighteousness, — and know 

* This poem has been ah'eady printed in the "Wanderer," 
but is more properly placed here. 



JACQUELINE. 395 

What is, and was, before the suns were lit, — 
How Love is all in all ... . Look, look at it, 
My Star — God's star — for being God's 'tis mine : 
Had it been man's .... no matter .... sec it 

shine — 
The old wan beam, which I have watched erenow 
So many a wretched night, when this poor brow 
Ached 'neath the sorrows of its thorny crown. 
Its crown .'.... ah, droop not, dear, those fond 

eyes down. 
No gem in all that shattered coronet 
Was half so precious as the tear which wet 
Just now this pale sick forehead. my own, 
My husband, need was that I should have known 
Much sorrow, — -.more than most Queens, — all 

know some, — 
Ere, dying, I could bless thee for the home 
Far dearer than the palace, — call thy tear 
The costliest gem that ever sparkled here. 

Enfold me, my beloved. One more kiss. 
O, I must go ! 'T was willed I should not miss 
Life's secret, ere I left it. And now see — 
My lips touch thine — thine arm encircles me — 
The secret 's found — God beckons — I must go. 
Earth's best is given. — Heaven's turn is come to 

show 
How much its best earth's best may yet exceed, 
Lest earth's should seem the very best indeed. 
So we must part a little ; but not long. 
I seem to see it all. My lands belong 
To Philip still ; but thine will be my grave, 
(The only strip of land which I could save !) 
Not much, but wide enough for some few flowers, 



396 CHRONICLES AND CUARACTERS. 

Thou 'It plant there, by and by, in later hours : 
Duke Humphry, when they tell him I am dead 
(And so youn<^ too), will sigh, and shake his 

head, 
And, if his wife should chide, " Poor Jacqueline," 
He '11 add, "you know she never could be mine." 
And men will say, when some one speaks of me, 
" Alas, it was a piteous history. 
The life of that poor Countess ! " For the rest 
Will never know, my love, how I was blest. 
Some few of my poor Zealanders, perchance, 
Will keep kind memories of me ; and in France 
Some minstrel sing my story. Pitiless John 
Will prosper still, no doubt, as he has done, 
And still praise God with blood.upon the Rood. 
PhiHp will, doubtless, still be called " The Good." 
And men will curse and kill : and the old game 
Will weary out new hands : the love of fame 
Will sow new sins : thou wilt not be renowned : 
And I shall lie quite quiet under ground. 
M}- life is a torn book. But at the end 
A little page, quite fair, is saved, my friend, 
Where thou didst write thy name. No stain is 

there. 
No blot, — from marge to marge all pure, — no 

tear ; — 
The last page, saved from all, and writ by thee, 
Which I shall take safe up to Heaven with mc. 
All 's not in vain, since this be so. Dost grieve ? 
Beloved, I beseech thee to' believe. 
Although this be the last page of my life. 
It is my heart's first, only one. Thy wife, 
Poor though she be, thou sole wealth of mine. 
Is happier than the Countess Jacqueline ! 



JACaUELTNE. 397 

And since my heart owns thine, say — am I not 
A Queen, my chosen, though by all forgot 1 
Though all forsake, yet is not this thy hand "? 
I, a lone wanderer in a darkened land, 
I, a poor pilgrim with no staff of hope, 
I, a late traveller down the evening slope. 
Where any spark, the glow-worm's, by the way. 
Had been a light to bless .... have I, say, 
Not found, beloved, in thy tender eyes, 
A light more sweet than morning's ? As there dies 
Some day of storm all glorious in its even. 
My life grows loveliest as it fades in Heaven. 

This earthly house breaks up. This flesh must 

fade. 
So many shocks of grief slow breach have made 
In the poor frame. Wrongs, insults, treacheries, 
Hopes broken down, and memory which sighs 
In, like a night wind ! Life was never meant 
To bear so much in such frail tenement. 
Why should we seek to patch and plaster o'er 
This shattered roof, crusht windows, broken door, 
The light already shines through 1 Let them break ! 

Yet would I gladly live for thy dear sake, 

O my heart's first and last, if that could be ! 

In vain ! . . . . yet grieve not thou. I shall not 

see 
England again, and those white cliffs ; nor ever 
Again those four gray towers beside the river. 
And London's roaring bridges : nevermore 
Those windows with the market-stalls before, 
Where the red-kirtled market-girls went by 
In the great square, beneath the great gray sky, 



398 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

In Brussels : nor in Holland, night or day, 
Watch those long lines of siege, and fight at bay 
Among my broken army, in default 
Of Gloucester's failing forces from Hainault : 
Nor shall I pace again those gardens green, 
With their clipt alleys, where they called me Queen, 
In Brabant once. For all these things are gone. 
But thee I shall behold, my chosen one, 
Though we should seem whole worlds on worlds 

apart, 
Because thou wilt be ever in my heart. 
Nor shall I leave thee wholly. I shall be 
An evening thought, — a morning dream to thee, — 
A silence in thy life when, through the night. 
The bell strikes, or the sun, with sinking light, 
Smites all the empty windows. As there sprout 
Daisies, and dimpling tufts of violets, out 
Among the grass where some corpse lies asleep. 
So round thy life, where I lie buried deep, 
A thousand little tender thoughts shall spring, 
A thousand gentle memories wind, and cling. 
O, promise me, my own, before my soul 
Is houseless, — let the great world turn and roll 
Upon its way, unvext .... Its pomps, its powers ! 
The dust saith to the dust . . . . " the earth is 

ours." 
I would not, if I could, be Queen again. 
For all the Avails of the wide world contain. 
Be thou content with silence. Who would raise 
A little dust and noise of human praise. 
If he could see, in yonder distance dim. 
The silent eye of God that watches him ? 
O, couldst thou see all that I see to-night 
Upon the brinks of the great Infinite ! 



JACQUELINE. 399 

*' Come out of her, my people, lest ye be 
Partakers of her sins !".... My love, but we 
Our treasure where no thieves break in and steal 
Have stored, I trust. Earth's weal is not our weal. 
Let the world mind its business — peace or war; 
Ours is elsewhere. Look, look, — my star, my star ! 
It grows, it glows, it spreads in light unfurled ; — 
Said I, " my star ? " No star — a world — God's 

world ! 
What hymns adown the jasper sea are rolled? 
Even to these sick-pillows ! Who infold 
White wings about me '? Rest, rest, rest .... I 

come ! 
O love, I think that I am near my home. 
Whence was that music 1 Was it Heaven's I heard ? 
" Write ' Blessed are the dead that die i' the Lord, 
Because they rest,' " . . . . because their toil is o'er. 
The voice of weeping shall be heard no more 
In the Eternal City. Neither dying 
Nor sickness, pain nor sorrow, neither crying, 
Eor God shall wipe away all tears. Rest, rest .... 
Thy hand, my husband, — so — upon thy breast ! 

THE DIRGE. 

Pluck the pale shy-colored periwlnlde, 

That haunts in dewy courts, and shuns the light : 

Gather dim violets and the ivild eyehright, 

That green old ruined loalls doth oversprinlde : 

And cull, to keep her company 

In death, rue, sage, and rosemary. 

And flowery thyme from thefliint bed o' the bee ; 

For they, ivhsn Summer 's o'er, make savor sweet 

To cherish Winter : strew black-spiked clove, 



400 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

And mint, and marjoram, to make my love 
A misty fragrance for her laindlng-sheet. 
But pull not up red tulips, nor the rose, 
For these he flaunting flowers that live i' the world's 
gay shows. 



END OP BOOK VII. 



BOOK VIII. 

PROM 1525 TO 1789. 
NAERATIVE, DRAMATIC, AND LYRICAL. 

"Semper enim, ubi de spe a3termtatis agitur, omnia alia 
contemnere non solum licet, sed etiam expedit." 

Cardan Proxeneta., cxii. 666, Elzevir edit. 



VOL. I. a6 



THE DEAD POPE. 

[Possibly, one of those numerous facezie, common about 
Rome during the " Ages of Faith." Thence, after the Refor- 
mation, it may have found its way into Germany ; being 
there caught up, and used as a weapon of offence by the zeal 
of the Reformed Pulpits ; which, in the vehement and clumsy 
handling of it, contrived (as it would seem) to convert the 
fool's feather into the leaden sword. Thus it reaches us at 
last distorted and transformed. Hence the serio-comic, half 
grotesque, and altogether incongruous character of it.] 




HE whole (lay long had been wild and 
warm, 
With a heavy forewarning of what was 
to come. 

There had been, indeed, no such horrible storm 
For many a year, men say, in Rome. 
I remember it burst just after the close 
Of the day when the dead Pope was laid in the 

Dome 
Of St. Peter ; taking his last repose, 
To the grief of all good Christendom. 

Here, before I am further gone with his story, 
It is fit I should mention that, when he died. 
He was of a good old age ; grown hoary 
In wearing the white robe, well descried 



404 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

By sinner and saint and catechumen, 

Judex gentium, mundi lumen ! 

Of a truth, he had sat so long in Rome, 

Sat so long in Peter's chair, 

Kuling the world, that he was come 

To keep his power apart from care. 

His hairs were few, and white 

With the hoar of many years : 

His eyes were filmy, and weak, 

And humid, and heavy, and wan : 

And all the look of the man 

Was as dull, and feeble, and bleak 

As the watery blunt starlight. 

And thin snow, of a north March night, 

When its wearied face appears 

Bathed cold in a clammy gray. 

Before the sluggish season clears 

Earth's winter rubbish away. 

Yet Winter's wine-cup cheers 

The dull heart of his discontent. 

While the joy of his jolly hearth endears 

His home in the frosty element : 

And, whatever the fretful folk may say, 

This Pope was a pleasant Pope, and a gay, 

For what should trouble his merriment 1 

There 's many a text, .... and this comes pat, 

" Dominus me Icetificat," 

And, " F'dii hominum usqiieqiio 

Gravi corde ? " David, too, 

Sayeth in the psalm, " In Deo 

Exultaho," also, " meo 

In corde tu Icetitiam 

Dedisti." Saith he, " Dormiam 

In pace." Where 's the harm of that ? 



THE DEAD POPE. 



405 



So (since it is better to laugh than Aveep) 

Leaving the wolf to look after the sheep, 

Whilst ever the stormy nobles raved, 

And the wickedness ran over in Rome, 

And sinners, grown stout, refused to be saved, 

Save now and then by a martyrdom. 

He smiled, and, warming his heart with wine. 

Daily, gayly quaffed the cup. 

Albeit there were some who seemed to opine, 

By their sullen faces and doggerel verses. 

That the cup so quaffed was filled with "^curses. 

Averring, as their spleen dictated. 

That, to claim the price of its filling up 

With the much-wronged blood of His bruised 

Vine 
The dreadful unseen Vintager waited 
Aware at the gate. But we all of us know 
The Devil is apt to quote Scripture so : 
And what harm if still, as those famous keys 
Of the double world's appointed porter. 
From the good man's girdle hung at their ease, 
While the days grew chillier, darker, shorter, 
The cellar key in the cellar door 
(More nimble than each of those rusty twins) 
Daily, gayly, all the more 
Made music among the vaults and bins ? 



II. 

For O, what a paradise was there, 
Set open by that kindly key ! 
Joyous, gentle, debonair. 
The soul of every grape that dwells 
By Tuscan slopes, o'er Umbrian dells. 



40 6 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Or else, where, oft, in azure air, 

Round serene Parthenope 

"Witless wandering everywhere. 

Drunken sings the sultry bee, 

Or where, purpling tombs of kings, 

Castel d' Aso's violet springs : 

Montepulciano, the master-vine ; 

Chiante, that comforts the Florentine ; 

With many a merry-hearted wine 

From Dante's own delicious vale, 

Whose sweetness hangs, in odors frail 

Of woods and flowers, round many a tale 

Of tears, along the lordly line 

Of the scornful Ghibeline, — 

Dante's vale, and Love's, and mine. 

The pleasant vale of the Casentine ! 

Nor lacked there many and many a train 

Of kingly gifts, — the choicest gain 

Of terraced cities over the sea : 

The fiery essence of fierce Spain, 

The soul of sunburnt Sicily, 

The Frankish, Rhenish, vintage, all 

The purple pride of Portugal, — 

Whole ti'oops of powers celestial. 

The slayers of sullen Pain ! 

O what spirits strong and subtle ! 

Whether to quicken the pulses' play, 

And dance the world, like a weaver's shuttle 

To and fro in the dazzling loom 

Where Fancy weaves her wardrobe gay ; 

Or soften to faintness, sweet as the fume 

From silver censers swung alway 

To music, making a mellow gloom. 

The too intrusive light of the day. 



THE DEAD POPE. 407 

Some that bathe the wearied brain, 

And untie the knotted hair 

On the puckered brows of Care ; 

Soothe from heavy eyes the stain 

Of tears too long represt ; make fair 

With their transcendent influence 

Fate's frown ; or feed with nectar-food 

The lips of Longing, and dispense 

To the tired soul despaired-of good : 

Others that stir in the startled blood 

Like tingling trumpet notes intense, 

To waken the martial mood. 

By the mere faint thought of it, well I wis 

Such a heaven on earth were hardly amiss ; 

And I hold it no crime to set it in rhyme 

That I think a man might pass his time 

In company worse than this. 



III. 

But, however we pass Time, he passes still, 
Passing away whatever the pastime. 
And, whether we use him well or ill. 
Some day he gives us the slip for the last time. 
Even a Pope must finish his fill, 
And follow his time, be it feast time or fast time. 
As it happened with this same Pope, No doubt 
What sleep was his after that last bout. 
When he could not wake ! so they laid him out. 
" He is gone," they said, " where there 's no return- 
ing. 
Of the college who is the next to come ? " 
Then they set the bells tolling, the tapers burning. 
And bore him up into Peter's dome. 



4o8 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 



IV. 



And that day the whole world mourned with Eome. 



Now, after the organ's drowning note 
Grew hoarse, then husht, in his golden throat, 
And the latest loiterer, slacking his Avalk, 
Cast one last glance at the catafalk. 
And, passing the door, renewed his talk 
As to that last raid of Prince Colonna, — 
" What villages burned '? and what hope of indem- 
nity ? " 
The Beauty from Venice (or was it Verona?) 
With the nimbus of red gold hair, God bless her ! 
And who should be the late Pope's successor ? 
I say — that, as soon as the crowd was gone, 
And never a face remained in sight. 
As the tapers were brightening in chapels dim. 
Just about the time of the coming on 
And settling down of the ghostly light, 
The sudden silence so startled him 
That the dead Pope rose up. 

VI. 

And, first, he fumbled, and stretched his hand, 

reeling for the accustomed cup ; 

For the taste of the wine was yet in his mouth ; 

And, finding it not, and vext with drouth, 

Feebly, as ever, he called out. 

For a Pope .... what need has a Pope to shout. 

Whose feeblest whisper from land to land 

Is echoed, east, west, and north, and south 1 



TUE DEAD POPE. 409 

But, no one coming to his command, 

He rubbed his eyes, and looked about. 

And saw, through a swimming mist, each face 

Of his predecessors, gone to Grace 

Many a century ago. 

Sternly staring at him so 

(From their marble seats, a mournful row) 

As who should say, " Be cheerful, pray ! 

Make the best of it as you may : 

We are all of us here in the same sad case : 

Each in his turn, we must one by one die, 

Even the best of us, — 

God help the rest of us ! 

Your turn, friend, now. Make no grimace. 

Consider sic transit gloria mundil " 

He began to grow aware of the place. 

A settling strangeness more and more 

Crept over him, never felt before, 

As he stept down to the marble floor. 

He looked up, and down, above him, and under, 

Filled with uncomfortable wonder. 

What should persuade him that he was dead ? 

A horrible humming in the head ? 

A giddy lightness about the feet 1 

Last night's Avine, and this night's heat ! 

Where were the Saints and Apostles, each 

With the bird or beast that belongs to him, 

Each on a cushion of cloud, — no film, 

But solid and smooth like a pale-colored peach ; 

In a holy hurry the hand to reach 

Down to him out of the glory dim. 

Where the multitudinous cherubim, 



41 o CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

With winged heads, and wonderful eyes 

Wide open, are watching in due surprise 

How Heaven puts on its holiday trim 

To welcome a Pope when he dies ? 

He could guess by the incense afloat on the air 

Some service not yet so long o'er 

But what he might have slept unaware, 

Nor yet quite waked. What alone made him fear 

AVas that draperied, lighted, black thing there. 

Not quite like a couch, and too much like a bier. 

But anyhow, " Wherefore linger here ? " 

And, pushing the heavy curtain by 

That flapped in the portal, the windy floor 

Sucking its flat hem sullenly, 

He passed out through the great church door. 



VII. 

So forth, on the vacant terrace there. 

Overlooking the mighty slope 

Of never-ending marble stair, 

'Twixt the great church and the great square, 

Stood the dead Pope. 

On either side glade heaped on glade 

Of colossal colonnade, 

Lost, at last, in vague and vast 

Recesses of repeated shade 

By those stupendous columns cast ; 

In midst of which, as they sang and played, 

(Fire and sound!) the fountains made 

Under the low faint starlight, laid 

Not far above their splendors bright, 

Fresh interchange of laughters light, 

Mixt with the murmur of the might 



THE DEAD POPE. 411 

Of royal Rome which, dim in sight, 

Revelling under the redness wide 

Of lamps now winking from hollow and height, 

AVith a voice of pride on every side 

Lay ready to receive the night. 

VIII. 

Thus, all at once, and all around, 

The silence changed itself to sound 

More horrible than mere silence is, — 

The sound of a life no longer his. 

Tresh terror seized him where he stood ; 

Or the fear that followed him, shifting ground, 

Fresh onslaught made ; and he rested afraid 

To call or stir, like a sick owl, strayed 

From a witches' cave back again to the wood 

Wherein, meanwhile, the noisy brood 

Of little birds, with lusty voice, 

Made free of his presence, begin to rejoice, 

And he halts in alarm lest, perchance, if he cries out, 

Those creatures, fit only to furnish him food, 

Already by liberty rendered loquacious. 

Picking up heart, and becoming audacious. 

Should forthwith fall to pecking his eyes out. 

IX. 

Indeed, one might fairly surmise 

From the noise in the streets, the shouts and cries, 

That all the men and women in Rome, 

From the People's Gate to St. Peter's Dome, 

Though clad in mourning, each and all, 

Were making the most of some festival : 

Walking, driving, talking, striving, 



412 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Each with the rest, to do his best 

To add to the tumult ; each contriving 

To make, in pursuit of his special joys, 

Something more than the usual noise. 

Since it is not every day in the week 

That one Pope dies, and another ^s to seek. 

Such an event is a thing to treasure : 

Tor a general mourning 's a general meeting, — 

A sort of general grief-competing, 

Which leads, of course, to a general greeting 

(Not to mention the general drinking and eating) 

That is quite a general pleasure. 



X. 

The universal animation. 

In a word, you could hardly underrate. 

So much to talk of, so much to wonder at ! 

The Ambassadors, first, of every nation. 

Representing the whole world's tribulation. 

Each of them grander than the other. 

In due gradation for admiration ; 

How they lookt, how they spoke, what sort of 

speeches ? 
What sort of mantles, coats, collars, and breeches 1 
Then, the Cardinals, all in a sumptuous smother 
Of piety, warmed by the expectation 
Which glowed in the breast of each Eminent Brother 
Of assuming a yet more eminent station, — 
Much, he hoped, to each Eminent Brother's vexa- 
tion. 
And then, the Archbishops, and Bishops, and Priors, 
And Abbots, and orders of various Friars, 
Treading like men that are treading on briers. 



THE DEAD POPE. 



413 



Doubtful whom, in the new race now for the State 

run, 
They should hasten to claim as their hopeful pa- 
tron. 
The Nobles, too, and their Noble Families, 
Prouder each than the very devil. 
Yet turned, all at once, appallingly civil, 
And masking their noble animosities 
For the sake of combining further atrocities : 
And, after each of the Noble Families, 
Each Noble Family's faithful Following ; 
Who, picking their way while the crowd kept 

holloaing. 
Stuck close to their chiefs, and proudly eyed them. 
Much the same as each well-provendered camel 

eyes. 
In the drouthy desert, when groaning under 
Their pleasing weight of public plunder, 
The dainty despot boys that ride them. 
A host, too, of Saints, with their special religions, 
And patrons, of rival rank and station ; 
Which, as they passed, the very pigeons 
On the roofs uproused in a consternation ; 
Being deckt in all manners of ribbons and banners, 
Painted papers, and burning tapers 
Enough to set in a conflagration 
The world, you would think by the fume and flare 

of them. 
And the smoky faces of those that had care of 

them ; 
All marching along with a mighty noise 
Of barking dogs, and shouts, and cheers, 
Brass music, and bands of singing boys, 
Doing their best to split men's cars. 



414 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

XI. 

The excitement was certainly justifiable. 

The more so, if, having fairly computed 

The importance, necessity, and function 

Of a Pope, as divinely instituted. 

You consider the fact, which is undeniable, 

That, when deprived of its special pastor. 

The whole of earth's flock, without compunction, 

Must consider itself consigned to disaster. 

For, if the world, say. 

Could go on as it should, 

Doing its duty, fair and good, 

Missing no crumb of its Heavenly food, 

For even a week or a day 

In the absence of Heaven's Representative, 

Might it not be assumed from any such tentative 

Process, if this each time succeeded. 

That a Pope, on the whole, is hardly needed "? 

And that, if it should ever befall 

That Heaven might be pleased, after due delay. 

Its Viceroy on earth to recall, 

And abolish that post, just as good and as gay 

The world would go on in the usual way 

Without a Po^De at all "? 

XII. 

To this Pope however, yet upon earth. 

Who, though dead, knew what a live Pope is worth, 

That sight was somewhat provoking : 

Millions of men, all jostling, joking, 

As merry as so many Prodigal Sons, 

Having killed and roasted their fatted calf, 

And enjoying the chance to quaff and laugh ; 



THE DEAD POPE. 



415 



And yet not one of those millions 

Who seemed aware of the dead Pope there. 

Or even very much to care 

What had become of His Holiness, 

How he must feel now, or how he might fare ; 

Who, all the while, was nevertheless 

Sole cause of the general joyousness. 

This was certainly hard to hear. 

His hand he raised : no man lookt to it. 

His finger : not a knee was crookt to it. 

He raised his voice : no man heeded it. 

He gave his blessing : no man needed it. 

'T was the merest waste of benevolence, 

Since the holiday went on with or without him. 

He might have heen to all intents 

The golden Saint stuck up on the steeple, 

Who is always blessing a thankless people, 

Nobody caring a button about him. 

Bless, or curse, neither better nor worse 

For a single word that he said. 

On its wonted way a world perverse 

Went onward, nobody bowing the head 

Either for hope, or yet for dread. 

XIII. 

Then the dead Pope knew that he was dead. 

XIV. 

He walked onward — no man stopping him. 

Ever onwai'd — no lip dropping him 

A salve : nobody making way 

For the Pope to pass, as the Pope passed on 

Through that rude irreverent holiday : 



41 6 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Till the streets behind him, one by one, 
Fell off, and left him standing alone 
In the mighty waste of Rome's decay. 
Meanwhile, the night was coming on 
Over the wide Campagna : 
Hot, fierce, a blackness without form, 
And in. her breast she bore the storm. 

I never shall forget that night ! 
You might tell by the stifling stillness there, 
And the horrible wild-beast scent on the air, 
That all things were not right. 

XV. 

On Mount Cavi the dark was nurst, 

And the Black Monks' belfry towers above : 

Then, vast, the sea of vapor burst 

"Where forlorn Ferretian Jove 

Hears only the howlet's note accurst 

'Mid his fallen fanes no more divine : 

And from the sea to the Apennine : 

And swift across the rocky line 

Where the blighted moon dropped first 

Behind Soracte, black and broad 

Up the old Triumphal Road, 

From Palestrino post on Rome, 

Nearer, nearer, you felt It come, 

The presence of the darksome Thing ! 

As when, dare I say, with outstretcht wing, 

By some lean Prophet summoned fast 

To punish the guilt of a stiff-neckt king, . 

Over the desert, black inthe blast, 

On Babylon, or Egypt red. 

The Angel of Destruction sped. 



THE DEAD POPE. 417 

Earth breathed not, feigning to be dead : 

While the whole of heaven overhead 

Was overtaken unaware, 

First here, then there, then everywhere. 

Into the belly of blackness suckt, 

Sank the dwindling droves of buffaloes 

That spotted the extreme crimson glare : 

Then the mighty darkness stronger rose, 

Swallowing leagues of lurid air, 

And crossed the broken viaduct. 

Flung forth in dim disorder there 

Like the huge spine-bone of the skeleton 

Of some dead Python, left to obstruct 

The formless Night-hag's filmy path : 

Thence on, by the glimmering creeks and nooks 

Where the water-flats look sick and white, 

Putting out quite the pallid light 

Of the yellow flowers by the sulphur brooks 

That make a sullen brimstone bath 

For the Nightmare's noiseless hoof: 

And, leaving the quenched-out east aloof, 

The plague, from Tophet vomited, 

Struck at the west, and rushing came 

Kight against the last red flame. 

Where in cinders, now, the day. 

Self-condemned to darkness, lay 

With all his sins upon his head 

Burning on a fiery bed. 

Helpless, hopeless, overthrown. 

XVI. 

Now, to all the world it is well known 
How the Devil rides the wind by night : 
VOL. I, 27 



41 8 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Doing all the harm he can 
In the absence of heaven's light 
To the world's well-ordered plan. 
And with murrain, mildew, blight, 
Or thunder blue, or hailstone white. 
Marring the thrift of the honest man. 
Which much doth move his spite. 



XVII. 

Certainly, he was out that night. 

What time the fearful storm began. 

For lo ! on a sudden, left and right, 

The heaven was gashed from sky to sky, 

Seamed across, and sundered quite. 

By a swift, snaky, fork-ton gued flash 

Of brightness intolerably bright; 

As, ever, the angry Cherub, vowed 

To vengeance, fast through plunging cloud 

Wielding wide his Avithering lash. 

That wild horseman now pursued : 

Who lurked, his vengeance to elude. 

In deep unprobed darkness still. 

Forthwith, the wounded night 'gan spill 

Great drops : then fierce — crash crusht on crash - 

As it grieved beneath each burning gash. 

The darkness bellowed ; and outsprang 

Wild on the plain, whilst yet it rang 

With thunder, the infernal steed. 

And dashed onward at full speed, 

Blind with pain, with streaming mane, 

And snorting nostril on the strain, 

Where, dasht from off his flanks, the rain 



THE DEAD POPE. 

Through all the desolate abyss 
Of darkness, now began to hiss. 

XVIII. 

And here (for this story is scattered about 
The world in dozens of different shapes) 
One writes .... Some Lutheran lean, I doubt. 
Who, nameless, thus from shame escapes. — 
Lies thrive and flourish by the score : 
Take this for what 't is worth, no more : — 

" Out leaping from that riven rack 

Of cloud, where night was boiling blacky 

And so escaping, as God willed, 

While, for a time, the storm was stilled, 

Satan beheld the face he knew, 

Amoris actus impetu. 

And to the Shepherd gone astray 

Grimly the black goats' Goatherd said : 

' Service for service ! on their way 

To me full many hast thou sped : 

And, since it is a stormy night. 

Lest thou shouldst lose thine OAvn way quite, 

(For how shouldst thou the right way know 

Who seek'st it out the first time nowl) 

Content am I thy guide to be. 

Nor marvel that ^t is known to me. 

The way to Heaven. For who but I 

Makes half the ways there, that men try ? 

Moreover, there 's no jolly sin 

Which those I lead may not take in, 

If they themselves can pass the gate 

Whereat, of course, we separate. 

For all the members of my flock 



419 



420 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Come furnisht with Indulgences 
In proper form, — a goodly stock ! 
'T is but to pick and chuse from these. 
Paid for they are : and, signo hoc, 
Well paid, if Peter will but please 
That wicket to unlock.' " 

XIX. 

A spiteful fable. Best to own 

The truth can ne'er by us be known. 

But alas ! for any poor ghost of a Pope 

In such a night to be doomed to grope, 

Blind beneath the hideous cope 

Of those black skies without a stai*, 

For the way to where the Blessed are ! 

And, if the Evil One, himself, 

Was his conductor through the dark ; 

Or if, dislodged from its sky-shelf. 

Some cloud was made his midnight bark ; 

Or if the branding bolt, that rent 

The skies asunder, hewed for him 

Through that disfeatured firmament. 

Beyond the utmost echoing brim 

Of thunder-brewage, and the black 

Unblissful night, some shining track 

Up to the Sapphire Throne, where throng 

The Voices crying, " Lord, how long? " 

While the great years are onward rolled 

With moans and mutterings manifold ; 

I know not, for it was not told. 

XX. 

It would seem, however, all texts agree 
(And this should suffice us at any rate) 



THE DEAD POPE. 421 

In assuming for certain that, early or late. 

The dead Pope got to the Golden Gate 

Where the mitred Apostle sits with the key, — 

Peter, whose heir upon earth was he. 

And further than this to speculate 

I, for one, do not feel justified. 

Though a fact there is, I am bound to state : 

A renegade Monk avers he descried 

In a vision that very night, 

"When the storm was spending its fiercest hate, — 

(And what he saw, so much the sight 

Impressed him, he wrote as soon as he woke : — 

Was it a dream, or a wicked joke ?) 

What passed before That Gate. 



XXI. 

Now, since, after the fashion then in vogue, 
He wrote it in form of a dialogue ; 
Not averring, as he did, the dream to be true, 
In all else, as he wrote it, I write it for you : - 

VOICE OUTSIDE THE GATE. 

" Peter, Peter, open the Gate ! 

VOICE WITHIN. 

I know thee not. Thou knockest late. 

FIRST VOICE. 

Late ! yet, Peter, look, and see 
Who cklleth. 



422 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

SECOND VOICE. 

Nay, I know not thee. 
What art thou ? 

FIRST VOICE. 

Peter, Peter, ope 
The Gate ! 

SECOND VOICE. 

What art thou ? 

riRST VOICE. 

The dead Pope. 

SECOND VOICE. 

The Pope ? what is it ? 

FIRST VOICE. 

In men's eye 
Thy successor, late, was I. 
AVhat was thine was given to me. 

SECOND VOICE. 

Martyrdom and misery 7 

FIRST VOICE. 

Nay, hut power to bind and loose. 
In thy name have I burned Jews 
And heretics, and all the brood 
Of unbelief .... 



THE DEAD POPE. 423 

VOICES FAR WITHIN- 

Avenge our blood. 
Lord ! 

FIRST VOICE. 

And in thy name have blest 
Kings and Emperors ; confest 
Earth's Spiritual Head, while there 
I sat ruling in thy chair. 

VOICES FAR WITHIN. 

"Woe ! because the kings of earth 
Were with her in her wicked mirth ! 

FIRST VOICE. 

*In thy name, and for thy cause, 
I made peace and war, set laws 
To lawgivers .... 

VOICES FAR WITHIN. 

And all nations 
Drunk with the abominations 
Of her witchcraft ! 

FIRST VOICE. 

In thy name, 
And for thy cause, to sword and flame 
I gave sinners ; and to those 
That feared the friends and fought the foes 
Of him from all mankind selected 
To keep thy name and cause respected, 
Riches and rewards I gave. 
And the joy beyond the grave. 



424 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 



VOICES FAR WITHIN. 

Souls of men, too, chaffering lies, 
Did she make her merchandise. 



FIRST VOICE. 

By all means have I upheld 

Thy patrimony, — nay, 't is swelled. 

VOICES FAR WITHIN. 

For herself she glorified 
In the riches of her pride. 

FIRST VOICE. 

Wherefore, Peter, ope the Gate ! 
If my knocking now be late. 
Little time, ia truth, had I, — 
I, the Pope, who stand and cry ! 
For other cares than those that came 
Upon me, in thy cause and name, 
Holding up the heavy keys 
Of Heaven and Hell. 

SECOND VOICE. 

If so, if these 
Thou hast in keeping, wherefore me 
Callest thou ? Thou hast the kQ,j. 
Truly thou hast waited late ! 
Open, then, thyself, The Gate." 

And here the Monk bi'eaks off, to state. 
With befitting reflections by the way. 



THE DEAD POPE. 



4^5 



With what great joy the Pope, no doubt, 
Soon as he heard the stern voice say 
Those words, began to search about 
Among his garments for the key ; 
Which, strange to say, 't would seem that he 
Had not bethought him of before. 
And how that joy, from more to more. 
Waxed most (the historian of his dream 
Observes, as he resumes the theme), 
" When, after search grown desperate, 
A key he found, — just as his need 
Seemed at the worst, — a key, indeed ! 
But, ah vain hope ! for, however the Pope 
Tried the key in the fastened Gate, 
Turning it ever with might and main 
This way, that way, every w^ay at last, 
Forwards — backwards — round again — 
Till his joy is turned to sheer dismay at last. 
And his failing force will no longer cope 
With the stubborn Gate, — it declines to ope. 
A kev, indeed ! but not, alas. 
The Key." 

Who shall say tohat key it was ? 
The Monk, Avho here, I must believe. 
Is laughing at us in his sleeve 
(Like any vulgar story-teller, 
Fabling forms to vent his spleen). 
Surmises that it must have been 
The key of the Pope's own cellar. 




426 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 



THOMAS MUNTZER TO MARTIN 
LUTHER. 

(from prison.) 

KNOW not if what now my spirit 

doth spend 
This tortured frame's last strength in 

sore endeavor 
To write to thee will reach thee, Luther, ever. 
For I, whose crime is to have been man's friend. 
No friend can claim whose friendship's faitli I may 
Trust these, my life's last words, to thee to send, 
After my death, which thou dost urge, men say. 
I know not, Luther, if what 's writ to-night 
Be for thy reading, or for any man's. 
'T is as God wills. But, since his own eye scans, 
And answers, in my heart, what now 1 write. 
Still I write on, while he withholds the end. 
And, setting bare my spirit in God's sight, 
I summon thine to Avitness. 

'T were in vain 
To urge the old sad difference o'er again. 
Doomed to an imminent death, — a dreadful one 
In all save this, — that death, whate'er the shape 
God gives it, is the event of life alone 
Graced with' God's last great gift to man, — escape 
From men's tormenting, — I desire not now 
To argue a long-talked theology. 
How much mere knowledge with mere life may grow 
Concerns not one that, being about to die. 



MUNTZER TO MARTIN LUTHER. 



427 



Approaches Truth by no such process slow. 
Too near death's hour of certainty am I. 
But the pity ! Had we two been one ! 
As once we might have been : who cannot be, 
Henceforth, united, till by God's clear throne 
We stand together, with Heaven's eyes to see 
What Earth's missed sadly: each, Man's champion, 
And, therefore, God's ! We, in this dark, abused 
By the false glare of midnight watchfires, seen 
Across a warring Avorld, where all 's confused, 
Mistook for foes each other, who, I ween. 
Are soldiers of the self-same King. And so 
We fought, and, struck by thee, I fall. Each blow 
Of thine, which I must pardon and deplore, 
A friend's mistake ! though fatal, Luther, more 
Than if a foe had dealt it. O why, why 
This woful haste, that mars so much"? See here 
The sad result. For, Luther, while I die, 
What ominous, incongruous faces leer 
Beside thine own Avith laughing lip and eye ? 
What strange unholy helpmates share Avitli thee 
The sad bad joy of this false victory 
O'er me and man ? Error on Error ! see, 
Beneath the same soiled banner at thy side. 
Hand clasping hand, grim Saxon George allied 
With him of Hesse ! sworn foes erewhile, though 

now 
George, who would think he did God service good 
Could he but rend thee limb from limb, as thou 
Bid'st him rend me, red with thy brother's blood. 
Thy right hand holds : who clasps the other % he, 
The Landgrave, Avho hates him, as both hate me. 
And thou, the while, art hugging each red hand ! 
What glues so fast the fratricidal Three 



428 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Together thus 1 And what of such a band 
The shameful central link makes Luther be ? 
My blood. shame, shame, shame, my brother, 

shame ! 
Is it not sad that God such things should see, 
And thou the cause ? worst disgrace of all ! 
That, when God asks, " Who did this ? " men must 

name 
Their noblest, and the blame of such deeds fall 
On him whose scorn should brand them with the 

blame 
Such deeds deserve. Error beyond recall ! 
Yet, think, think, Luther, and be sad 't is so. 

Desirest thou man's good 1 I wot thou dost. 
But self hath filmed thy spirit's eagle eye. 
Hear him not, heed him not, since cry he must, 
The flattering fiend, that in thy heart doth cry ! 
I hear the plausible serpent tempting Dust 
To mimic God ! and thou dost taste his lie, 
And in the sweetness of it take delight, 
Murmuring, " Man's g(Jod ! for what else have I 

striven, 
Toiled, dared, done battle, conquered? Man's 

good, ay ! 
But man's good, by my gift, to mankind given, 
Not man's good, man's hereditary right." 
Hath it not oft thus Avhispercd thee ? and thou 
Hast listened till it seemed God's voice ! By night, 
When thoughts speak loud that scarce dare whisper 

low 
By daylight, — when the Tempter saith his say, 
And loill be answered, — doubtless to me, too. 
Would some such wandering whisper steal its way 



MUNTZER TO MARTIN LUTHER. 429 

At times, from the abyss. I thank God, who 
Gave my soul strength to answer stoutly Nay, 
And foil Pride's prelate-devil of his prey ! 

Consider, Luther . ... 't is Paul speaks, not I . . . . 
How all are members of the Body of Christ : 
Where Avere the hearing, were the body all eye ? 
Were it all ear, in what would sight exist 1 
Were all one member, where the body then ? 
Many the members, though the body is one : 
One Spirit of God in many lives of men : 
Can the eye say to the hand, " Need have I none 
Of thee " ? or can the head say to the feet, 
" I need ye not " 1 Nay, rather they which be 
The body's feeblest members most complete 
The body's being : rather those that Ave 
Esteem least comely claim the comeliest care, 
Those least in honor honor most entreat : 
Since to the body these most needful are : 
The weaker parts chief cherishing demand : 
The limbs crave clothing, — not the head, the hand. 

What gleamed on Corinth, in the dawn of Faith, 
Is Luther blind to, in Faith's noonday blaze 1 
To thee, Apostle, still the Poor Man saith 
The self-same word that in the old proud days 
Paul to the rich Corinthians cried. They heard, 
Believed, obeyed, and blest the Preacher's word. 

To Corinth God one preacher sent : to thee 
A thousand preachers cry aloud, my brother. 
The fettered foot rebukes the hand that 's free. 
Should not we members cherish one another "? 
For if one member sufFcreth pain or wrong, 



430 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

All suffer with it, and the whole frame ails : 

Since each to each the bodily parts belong, 

And none without his fellow's help avails 

The body's use. But is it so with us ? 

The Rich oppress the Poor : the Strong the Weak : 

The hand lops off the foot. The body, thus 

Self-mutilated, suffers, and doth shriek : 

But the ear hears not what the tongue doth cry, 

And the hand helps not, and Shame shuts the eye ! 

I sought to heal this sickness into health : 

To mitigate, not magnify, man's wrong : 

For Want win justice, and give worth to Wealth : 

To free tlie Weak, not to enslave the Strong : 

'Mid gifts unequal, 'mid unequal powers, 

Secure the equal happiness of all : 

Maintain God's law in this mad world of ours : 

Replace the force of mere material thrall 

By force of love ; the old empiry of Might, 

Which is imposed upon unwilling hate. 

By the serene sweet sovereignties of Right, 

That are accepted and secured i' the state 

Of man's free spirit, by the loyal love 

Of what the soul perceives to be Above. 

I sought to attain this by no violent aids : 
I preached not Justice from the cannon's mouth. 
In humble hearts, not over crowned heads, 
I claimed dominion, and 't was granted. Youth, 
Hope's dawn-star trembling in his tear-lit eyes ; 
Old Age, the twilight of his toilful day 
Suffused with solemn joy, — like evening skies 
That promise watchful shepherds a fair morn, — 
Brightening his grave, calm, satisfied regard ; 



MUNTZER TO MARTIN LUTHER. 



431 



And Womanliood, — the maiden in her May, 
The careworn wife, with hungry eyes, grown hard 
From grieving without hope, — pale mothers, worn 
With nursing breadless babes ; the wan array 
Of this world's weary hearts ; — all these, no scorn 
Could sneer to shame, no cares could keep away, 
No want withhold, from Love's new-found domain. 
Love showed his face, and was forthwith beloved ! 
No drop of blood was shed, no victim slain. 
For love of all in each loved spirit moved. 
And this man's pleasure was not that man's pain ; 
But in Mulhausen God saw, and approved, 
The bloodless triumph that bequeathed no stain 
To Love's least soldier. And there rose on eartli, 
For Heavenly augury of human gain, 
A glorious F'orm of innocent beauty and mirth, — 
A little State like one large Family : 
All members of one body at one birth : 
And all were lowly, because all were high : 
None poor : none idle : tyrant none, nor thrall : 
Strong labor for the strong : light for the weak : 
Labor for all : and food for all : for all 
Hope that makes strong, and Reverence that makes 

meek. 
Conscience that governs. Justice that allies, 
Love that obeys, and Faith that fortifies. 

And so, it grew, and grew : and so, I deemed 
It might grow yet, — Earth's fruit of Heavenly seed ! 
But no ! the vultui*e swooped, the eagle screamed. 
The roused hawk hungered, and the dove must 

bleed ! 
The banded anarchs of a brutal time 
Hated us strongly, and were strong : their greed 



432 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Was made earth's god : their lust earth's law sub- 
lime : 
We loved, and we Avere weak : that was our crime. 
And where was Luther then ? Erom town to town 
Chasing gray-headed Carlstadt, his old friend : 
Denouncing, persecuting, hunting down, 
Down, to a noble life's disastrous end. 
The man, to whom, in God's attesting name, 
His solemn faith was pledged not long before : 
The man he loathed because he could not tame 
That old man's fearless spirit any more 
To crouch to his ! Or to obedience old 
Scolding Melanchthon's meeker nature back. 
.... Ah, dear Melanchthon, loved, though lost ! 

How, fold 
On fold, the blurred Past lifts its vapor black, 
To let emerge those melancholy eyes 
Once more, which still my wronged heart loves ! 

Alack, 
Love is not always just, nor Memory wise. 
May truer friends forgive me, that I cease, 
A moment even, to list to their loud woes ! 
The thought of thee o'er all things breathes sad 

peace : 
And, for a while, in sorrowful repose 
The world's vast wail is husht, to let me hear 
The old sweet flute-playing .... so faint, so clear ! 
Melanchthon, never play that flute again ! 

Back, heart, to Luther ! Where was Luther then ? 

Maligning Miintzer to the magistrate : 

The rich man's friend, the friendless people's foe : 

With frenzied rail, rebuking hope : elate 

To lift the high-born, lay the low-born low : 



MUNTZER TO MARTIN LUTHER. 



433 



Now this Elector, now that Landgrave, praising : 
Through all Thuringia preaching scorn and strife : 
In every Saxon burg crusaders raising 
Against the accursed Anabaptist's life ! 

Even then, the untaught patient peasant clung 

To hope in justice from an unjust power. 

Sharp was the cry which misery from him wrung, 

But scant his asking even in that last hour. 

He asked for leave to labor and to live, — 

A free man's life and labor, not a beast's : 

To honest Want what honest Y>7'ealth may give. 

Wages for work : Christ's charity from Priests : 

Justice from Law : and man's humanity 

From Human Power. His prayer was humbly 

urged : 
Scorn was the guerdon, outrage the reply. 
With hoot and howl the importunate wretch was 

scourged 
From field to forest, and from moor to fen. 
Then, then at last, lashed, famisht, to its lair, 
The frenzied People, raving, rent its den : 
Then savageries of nature seethed and surged 
In manly bi'casts unmanned by mad despair : 
Brute hardship brutalized the hearts of men : 
And beasts of burden changed to wild beasts 

then. 

Ay ! then, indeed, another voice was heard : 
Not mine : and stormy listeners, lured by hate, 
Welcomed the preacher of a wilder word, 
With hearts whose love's last cry was strangled 

late. 
Like rainless lightning through a wildwood ran 
VOL. I. 28 



434 CHRONICLES AND CBARACTERS. 

Stork's fiery utterance : where it dropped it burned : 
And all was flame. Eor each wronged heart of 

man 
Caught, fire and flared; and, flaring, backward 

turned 
Before the rushing wind of ruinous Wrath, 
And poured that glare upon a blighted Past : 
And each beheld, what barred the backward path, 
Some mighty image of a monstrous wrong 
Whereon the red revengeful light was cast. 
This saw his son's back bleed beneath the thong : 
That other his dishonored bride beheld, 
Or ravisht daughter : one, the hunter's throng 
Trampling his thrifty field : another yelled, 
" In Leipheim bleach my boys' unburied bones ! " 
One saw his brother burning at the pyre : 
One caught from bloody racks a comrade's groans : 
One saw his father on the cross expire. 
Then burst the dreadful shout, the dooming word, 
And in the hand of Vengeance flashed the sword. 

And peace was passed away. To me, to all, 
No choice survived, but action, and a cause 
To fight for : man's oppressor, or his thrall : 
The makers, or the breakers, of bad laws. 
My choice was fixt, my part imposed : in me 
No pause disloyal to the past allowed. 
Albeit strife's end I could not fail to see : 
The certain slaughter of an unskilled crowd, 
Disaster, disappointment, death : fit ends 
To false beginnings, — war to vengeance vowed, 
And valor shamed by violent deeds. My friends 
To fancied victory, fooled, with blindfold eyes, 
Went forth : unblinded I, to sacrifice. 



MUNTZER TO MARTIN LUTHER. 435 

Yet, when the Armies of the Poor displayed 
The Wheel of Fortune on their ensigns borne, 
Which, in the turning of her hoodwinked head, 
Turns all things upside down with captious scorn, 
" Not Chance, but Hope, be our device ! " I said, 
" For godless Fortune's gifts leave Faith forlorn, 
But God's gift Hope stays fast when these be fled." 
And on the People's flag I blazoned then 
Heaven's rainy bow, first reared o'er rescued men. 

Ay ! though that banner hath been beaten down, 
That symbol trampled out in streams of blood. 
While this contented world without a frown 
Is praising faithless peace in festal mood ; 
Though all the friends for whom I hoped are slain 
Like shambled sheep, and though myself must die 
In some few hours, that hope I still retain : 
Not with the same wild moment's flashing joy 
That seized my soul when, in war's desperate hour, 
I stood on the hill-top, and saw beneath 
The all-surrounding hosts of hostile Power, 
And mine own helpless sheep, ordained to death, 
A faint and Aveary flock, which to devour. 
The herded wolves, hoarse barking, bared sharp 

teeth ; 
While high in heaven, athwart the thunder-shower, 
Even as I lifted up my voice, and cried 
To God, with stretched expostulating hand. 
Sprang forth the sudden rainbow, basing wide 
O'er battle strewn about the lower land. 
Storm strewn in heaven, all its aery pride, 
Triumphant on the everlasting hills ! 
Not thus I hope. No gleam of promise thus 
Visits this hour, which Heaven with darkness fills. 



436 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

For men must wait. God deigns not to discuss 
With our impatient and o'erweening wills 
His times, and ways of working out through us 
Heaven's slow but sure redress of human ills. 
When Christ was in the garden captived, they 
That, till that hour, had talked and walked beside 

him, 
Hoping in him, lost hope, and fled away, 
And he that knew him best ere dawn denied him. 
What wonder ? All seemed lost, i' the very eve 
Of an immortal victory. In man's sight, 
All loas lost. What disciple could believe 
Love's triumph in Life's failure, that sad night ? 
But God makes light what men make dark : his 

fire 
He frees where fall our ashes. And, because 
I feel God's power, still doth my spirit aspire : 
Not fearing, even now, that unjust laws 
By unjust force maintained, rack, stake, or cord, 
The signed conventions of convenient wrong, 
The tyrant's sceptre, or the hireling's sword, 
The servile pulpit, timorous to the strong, 
To the weak truculent, or custom tough, 
Can crush man's rights forever, or prolong 
Man's pain an hour, whene'er God cries, " Enough ! " 
And for this reason, and because I think 
I never cared about myself since first 
I cared for man, — from whom I dare not shrink, 
Not even though he forsake himself, — nor aught 
Hath Fancy nourisht, or Ambition nurst. 
That was not featured in the womb of thought 
By Hope's keen contemplation of man's face ; 
Because I cared not ever, care not now. 
Which runner's foot be fleetest in the race, 



MUNTZER TO MARTIN LUTHER. 437 

Who, at the goal, assumes to grace his brow 
The garland won, who takes the upper place, 
Chief at the board, when festal wine-cups flow. 
So long as, at the last, the goal be gained. 
The garland got, the general table spread ; — 
Whoe'er the man by whom man's aim attained, 
Joy crowns my heart, if victory crowns his head ! 
Luther, because 't was thus — H is thus — with me. 
And because, gazing with intensest gaze 
Round each lost field where my life's ruins be, 
A gleam of hope for man, in these dark days, — 
(His last, perchance, for centuries long !) — I sec. 
Or seem to see, i' the spirit-power which stays, 
Though stained, — like sunrise o'er a stormy sea 
Poured from a clouded crag with struggling rays, — 
On thy firm forehead's pride, — I write to thee. 
Love mankind, Luther, if thou lovcst not me ! 
For thou, great Spirit, art full-armed ! a soul 
Clothed with strong thunder by the hand of God : 
Ardent to combat, potent to control : 
Gabriel's spear, John's Angel's measuring-rod. 
The Cherub's flaming sword, and Michael's shield, 
Were given to thee — to conquer, not to yield. 

Yield not the Devil his recaptured prey ! 
Conquer for all mankind ! Complete thy task ! 
The People thou wast sent to save and sway 
Die in the Desert : thirsty lips, that ask 
In vain for water ! perishing feet, that stray 
Farther and farther from the Promist Land, 
And sink 'neath weary loads along the way ! 
Mock not man's thirst with driblets poured i' the 

sand 
From the scant leavings of Wealth's well-drained 

flask. 



438 .CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Cleave thou the stubbora stone with stern com- 
mand. 
Smite these rich rocks ! The rod is in thy hand. 

Thou canst. But if thou wilt not .... 

Hark ! give ear 
To this sad prophecy of woes to be, 
A dying voice to night-winds, moaning here, 
Delivers, chai'ging them to bear to thee 
The burden of Time's melancholy song : 
The Church thou buildest, scorning first to free 
Life's cumbered field for Love's foundations, long 
Shall be, herself, the slave of Power : and she, 
Wed to the World, not Christ, the unchristian 

wrong 
Of worldly Force with worldly Fraud shall share, 
And so wax weak by scheming to be strong ; 
Till there shall be on earth a sight to scare 
Earth's holiest hope from human hearts away : 
A Priesthood, purchased for complacent prayer, 
Leagued with Earth's Pomps, for profit and for pay, 
Against Heaven's Love : praisers of things that 

are, 
Sfiorners of good that 's not : cleaving to clay, 
Strangling the spirit ; purblind, unawai'e ! 
Contracting, not enlarging, day by day. 
The charities of Christ, with surly care : 
Till man's indignant heart shall turn away, 
And chuse the champions of its faith elsewhei'e. 
And champions shall it find. Dread champions, 

they! 
The impatient offspring of prolonged despair : 
A praycrless, pitiless, imperious brood, 
Whose battle-cry shall be a cry for blood. 



MUNTZER TO MARTIN LUTHER. 



439 



It may come soon, come late, come once for all. 

Achieve its task, and pass, content, away, 

That Hour of Fate, which God to life shall call : 

It may come many times, and miss its prey, 

And pass, dissatisfied, to come again, 

More grimly armed with greed of greater sway, 

To rescue from more wretchedness more men : 

I cannot tell. For unseen hands delay 

The coming of what oft seems close in ken, 

And, contrary, the moment, when we say, 

" 'T will never come ! " comes on us even then. 

I cannot tell the coming of that day, 

If near or far, or how 't will be, or when : 

But come it will, and do its work it must. 

So sure as moves God's spirit in man's dust. 

Men call me Prophet. And thou, too, in scorn. 
Prophet I am. For grief hath made me wise. 
The night's lone watchman feels far off the dawn. 
And, till redressed, all wrongs are prophecies. 
This is no tortured fool's despairing curse, 
No maniac menace from a murdered man. 
Luther, consider, ere man's need be Avorse, 
If thou wilt help it, as none other can. 
I claim not justice now, I do beseech 
Compassion, for the Poor, To thee, to all, 
I would, indeed, my dying cry might reach : — 
Place for the People's Cause ! in which I fall. 

Mv sands run out. What else my soul would say 
Must be said shortly. And these fingers write 
But ill the struggling thoughts that force their way 
Through tortured nerves, and speak in pain's de- 
spite. 



440 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Judge if 't is pity for myself I crave. 
Luther, one woman lives that loves me : one 
"Whose life I 'd die ten thousand deaths to save : 
I have no friends, and therefore she hath none, 
Save God : I cannot shield her, from the grave 
To which men doom me : worse than all alone 
I leave her, compassed with a world of foes ! 
That is the wife Avhose steps with mine have gone 
Faithful through life, though led from woes to woes. 
I have not breathed one prayer, not made one 

moan 
To thee for her, that 's as myself. Heaven knows ! 
Much less for this least self, that 's soon to die ; 
Though it hath suffered somcAvhat. Thrice they 

bound 
This body to their rack. Thou wast not by. 
Thy friends were. Each dictated some fresh 

wound. 
And all applauded. Let that pass. For man. 
Not for myself, I end, as I began, 
This letter, and this life. - 

With failing force. 
But not with fainting faith, I lift the cry 
That speeds my spirit on its sunward course 
Beyond Death's night. And, as I lived, I die, 
Man's friend ; imploring - — though it be in vain — 
From thee, from all — man's pity for man's pain ! 




ADOLPHUS, DUKE OF GV ELDERS. 441 

ADOLPHUS, DUKE OF GUELDERS. 

(fifteenth and sixteenth centuries.) 

ijDOLPHUS, Duke of Guelders, having 
died, 
Was laid in pomp for men to see. 
Priests vied 

Witli soldiers, which the most should honor him. 
Borne on broad shoulders through the streets, with 

hymn 
And martial music, the dead Duke in state 
Reached Tournay. There they laid him in the 

great 
Cathedral, where perpetual twilight dwells, 
Misty with scents from silver thuribles ; 
Since it seems fitting that, where dead kings sleep, 
The sacred air, by pious aids, should keep 
A certain indistinctness faint and fine. 
To awe the vulgar mind, and with divine 
Solemnities of silence, and soft glooms. 
Inspire due reverence around royal tombs. 
So, in the great Cathedral, grand, he lay. 

The Duke had gained his Dukedom in this way : 
Once, on a winter night, .... these things were 

written 
Pour centuries ago, when men, frost-bitten. 
Blew on their nails, and curst, to warm their 

blood. 
The times, the taxes, and what else they could, . . . . 
A hungry, bleak night sky, with frosty fires 



442 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Hung hard, and dipt with cold the chilly spires, 

Bent, for some hateful purpose of its own, 

To keep sharp watch upon the little town. 

Which huddled in its shadow, as if there 

'T was safest, trying to look unaware ; 

Earth gave it no assistance, and small cheer, 

^Neath that sharp sky, resolved to interfere 

For its affliction, but loekt up her hand. 

Stared fiercely on man's need, and his command 

llejccted, cold as kindness when it cools, 

Or charity in some men's souls. The pools 

And water-courses had become dead streaks 

Of steely ice.' The rushes in the creeks 

Stood stiff as iron spikes. The sleety breeze, 

Itself, had died for lack of aught to tease 

On the gaunt oaks, or pine-trees numbed and stark. 

All fires were out, and every casement dark 

Along the flinty streets. A famisht mouse, 

Going his rounds in some old dismal house, 

Disconsolate (for since the last new tax 

The mice began to gnaw each other's backs), 

Seemed the sole creature stii'ring ; save, perchance, 

With steel glove slowly freezing to his lance, 

A sullen watchman, half asleep, who stept 

About the turret where the old Duke slept. 

The young Duke, whom a waking thought, not 

new, 
Had held from sleeping, the last night or two. 
Considered he should sleep the better there, 
Provided that the old Duke slept elsewhere. 
Tlierefoi'c (about four hundred years ago, 
This point Avas settled by the young Duke so) 
Adolphus — the last Duke of Egmont's race 



ADOLPHUS, DUKE OF GUELDERS. 443 

Who reigned in Guelders, after whom the place 
Lapsed into Burgundiau line — put on 
His surcoat, buckled fast his habergeon, 
Went clinking up that turret stairway, came 
To the turret chamber, whose dim taper flame 
The gust that entered with him soon smote dead, 
And found his father, sleeping in his bed 
As sound as, just four hundred years ago. 
Good Dukes and Kings were wont to sleep, you 
know. 

A meagre moon, malignant as could be, 
Meanwhile made stealthy light enough to see 
The way by to the bedside, and put out 
A hand, too eager long to grope about 
For what it sought. A moment after that, 
The old Duke, wide aAvake and shuddering, sat 
Stark upright in the moon ; his thin gray hair 
Pluckt out by handfuls ; and that stony stare. 
The seal which terror fixes on surprise. 
Widening within the white and filmy e^^es 
With which the ghastly father gazed upon 
Strange meanings in the grim face of the son. 
The young Duke haled the old Duke by the 

hair 
Thus, in his nightgear, down the turret stair; 
And made him trot, barefooted, on before 
Himself, who rode a horseback, through the frore 
And aching midnight, over frozen wold. 
And icy mere. (That winter, you might hold 
A hundred fairs, and roast- a hundred sheep. 
If you could find them, on the ice, so deep 
The frost had fixt his floors on driven piles.) 
From Grave to Buren, five-and-twenty miles. 



444 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

The young Duke hunted through the hollow niglit 
The old Duke, like a phantom, flitting white 
Through darkness into darkness, and the den 
Wliere great men falling are forgot by men. 
There in a dungeon, where newts dwell, beneath 
The tower of Buren Castle, until death 
Took him, he lingered very miserably ; 
Some say for months ; some, years. Though 

Burgundy 
Summoned both son and father to appear 
Before him, ere the end of that same year, 
And sought to settle, after mild rebuke, 
Some sort of compromise between the Duke 
And the Duke's father. But it failed. 

This way 
The Duke had gained his Dukedom. 

At Tournay, 
Afterwards, in the foray on that town. 
He fell ; and, being a man of much renown, 
And very noble, with befitting state. 
Was royally interred within the great 
Cathedral. There, with work of costly stones 
And curious craft, above his ducal bones 
They builded a fair tomb. And over him 
A hundred priests chanted the holy hymn. 
Which being ended, .... "Our archbishop" 

(says 
A chronicler, writing about those days) 
" Held a most sweet discourse." .... And so, 

the psalm 
And silver organ ceasing, in his calm 
And costly tomb they left him ; with his face, 
Turned ever upward to the altar-place. 
Smiling: in marble from the shrine below. 



ADOLPHUS, DUKE OF GUELDERS. 445 

These things were done four hundred years ago, 
Adolphus, Duke of Guelders, in this way 
First having gained his Dukedom, as I say. 
After which time, the great Duke Charles the Bold 
Laid hold on Guelders, and kept fast his hold. 
Times change : and with the times too change the 

men. 
A hundred years have rolled away since then. 
I mean, since " Our archbishop " sweetly preached 
His sermon on the dead Duke, unimpcached 
Of flattery in the fluent phrase that just 
Tinkled the tender moral o'er the dust 
Of greatness, and with flowers of Latin strewed. 
To edify a reverent multitude. 
The musty surface of the faded theme, 
"All flesh is grass : mau's days are but a dream." 
A bad dream, surely, sometimes : waking yet 
Too late deferred ! Such honors to upset. 
Such wrongs to right, such far truths to attain, 
Time, though he toils along the road amain. 
Is still behindhand ; never quite gets through 
The long arrears of work he finds to do. 
You call Time swift ? it costs him centuries 
To move the least of human miseries 
Out of the path hetreads. You call Time strong 1 
He does not dare to smite an obvious wrong 
Aside, until 't is worn too weak to stand 
The faint dull pressure of his feeble hand. 
The crazy wrong, and yet how safe it thrives ! 
The little lie, and yet how long it lives ! 
Meanwhile, I say, a hundred years have rolled 
O'er the Duke's memory. 

Now, again behold ! 



446 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Late gleams of dwindled daylight, glad to go : 

A sullen autumn evening, scowling low 

On Tournay : a fierce sunset, dying down 

In clots of crimson fire, reminds a town 

Of starving, stormy people, how the glare 

Sunk into eyes of agonized despair, 

When placid pastors of the flock of Christ 

Had finished roasting their last Calvinist. 

A hot and lurid night is steaming up, 

Like a foul film out of some witch's cup, 

That swarms with devils spawned from her damned 

charms. 
For the red light of burning burgs and farms 
Oozes all round, beneath the locked black lids 
Of heaven. Something on the air forbids 
A creature to feel happy, or at rest. 
The night is cursed, and carries in her breast 
A guilty conscience. Strange, too ! since of late 
The Church is busy, putting all things straight. 
And taking comfortable care to keep 
The fold snug, and all prowlers from the sheep. 
To which good end, upon this self-same night, 
A much dismayed Town Council has thought right 
To set a Guard of Terror round about 
The great Cathedral ; fearing lest a rout 
Of these misguided creatures, prone to sin. 
As lately proven, should break rudely in 
There, where Adolphus, Duke of Guelders, and 
Other dead dukes, by whom this happy land 
Was once kept quiet in good times gone by, 
With saints and bishops sleeping quietly, 
Enjoy at last the slumber of the just ; 
In marble ; mixing not their noble dust 
AVith common clay of the inferior dead. 



ADOLPHUS, DUKE OF GU ELDERS. 447 

Therefore you hear, with moody, measured tread, 
This Guard of Terror going its grim watch, 
Through ominous silence. Scarce sufficient match, 
However, even for a hundred lean, 
Starved wretches, lasht to madness, having seen 
Somewhat too long, or too unworthily looked 
Upon, their vile belongings being cooked 

To suit each priestly palate If to-night 

Those mad dogs slip the muzzle, 'ware their bite ! 

And so, perchance, the thankless people thought : 
Tor, as the night wore off, a much-distraught 
And murmurous crowd came thronging wild to 

where, 
r the market-place, each stifled thoroughfare 
Disgorges its pent populace about 
The great Cathedral. 

Suddenly, a shout, 
As though Hell's brood had broken loose, rocked 

all 
Heaven's black roof dismal and funereal. 
As when a spark is dropt into a train 
Of nitre, SAvil'tly ran from brain to brain 
A single fiery purpose, and at last 
Exploded, roaring down the vague and vast 
Heart of the shaken city. Then a swell 
Of wrathful faces, irresistible, 
Sweeps to the great Cathedral doors ; disarms 
The Guard ; roars up the hollow nave ; and 

swarms 
Through aisle and chancel, fast as locusts sent 
Through Egypt's chambers, thick and pestilent. 

There, such a sight was seen, as, now and then. 



448 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

When half a world goes mad, makes sober men 
In after yeai*s, who comfortably sit 
In easy-chairs to weigh and ponder it, 
Revise the various theories of mankind, 
Puzzling both others and themselves to find 
New reasons for unreasonable old wrongs. 

Yells, bowlings, cursings ; grim tumultuous 

throngs ; 
The metamorphoses of mad despair : 
Men with wolves' faces, women with fierce hair 
And frenzied eyes, turned furies : over all 
The torchlight tossing in perpetual 
Pulsation of tremendous glare or gloom. 
They climb, they cling from altar-piece and tomb ; 
Whilst pickaxe, crowbar, pitchfork, billet, each 
Chance weapon caught within the reckless reach 
Of those whose single will a thousand means 
Subserve to (terrible wild kings and queens. 
Whose sole dominions are despairs), through all 
The marble monuments raajestical 
Go crashing. Basalt, lapis, syenite. 
Porphyry, and pediment, in splinters bright, 
Tumbled with claps of thunder, clattering 
Koll down the dark. The surly sinners sing 
A horrible black santis, so to cheer 
The work in hand. And evermore you hear 
A shout of awful joy, as down goes some 
Three-hundred-years-old treasure. Crowded, come 
To glut the greatening bonfire, chalices 
Of gold and silver, copes and cibories, 
Stained altar-cloths, spoiled pictures, ornaments. 
Statues, and broken organ tubes and vents. 
The spoils of generations all destroyed 



ADOLPHUS, DUKE OF GU ELDERS. 449 

In one wild moment ! Possibly grown cloyed 

And languid, then a lean iconoclast, 

Drooping a sullen eyelid, fell at last 

To reading lazily the letters graven 

Around the royal tomb, red porphyry-paven, 

Black-pillared, snowy-slabbed, and sculptured fair, 

He sat on, listless, with spiked elbows bare. 

"When (suddenly inspired with some new liate 

To yells, the hollow roofs reverberate 

As though the Judgment-Angel passed among 

Their rafters, and the great beams clanged and 

rung 
Against his griding wing) he shrieks : " Come 

forth, 
Adolphus, Duke of Guelders ! for thy worth 
Should not be hidden." Forthwith, all men shout : 
" Strike, split, crash, dig, and drag the tyrant out ! 
Let him be judged ! " And from the drowsy, dark, 
Enormous aisles, a hundred echoes bark 
And bellow, — " Judged ! " 

Then those dread lictors all, 
Marching before the magisterial 
Curule of tardy Time, with rod and axe, 
Tall to their work. The cream-white marble 

cracks. 
The lucid alabaster flies in flakes. 
The iron bindings burst, the brickwork quakes 
Beneath their strokes, and the great stone lid 

shivers 
With thunder on the pavement. A torch quivers 
Over the yawning vault. The vast crowd draws 
Its breath back hissing. In that sultry pause 
A man o'erstrides the tomb, and drops beneath ; 

VOL. I. 29 



4SO CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Another ; then another. Still its breath 

The crowd holds, hushful. At the last appears, 

TJnravaged by a hundred wicked years, 

Borne on broad shoulders from the tomb to which 

Broad, shoulders bore him ; coming, in his rich 

Robes of magnificence (by sweating thumbs 

Of savage artisans, — as each o^e comes 

To stare into his dead face, — smeared and 

smudged), 
Adolphus, Duke of Guelders, .... to be judged! 

And then and there, in that strange judgment-hall, 
As, gathering round their royal criminal, 
Troopt the wild jury, the dead Duke was found 
To be as fresh in face, in flesh as sound, 
As though he had been buried yesterday ; 
So well the embalmer's work from all decay 
Had kept his royal person. With his great 
Grim truncheon propt on hip, his robe of state 
Heaped in vast folds his large-built limbs around, 
The Duke lay, looking as in life; and frowned 
A frown that seemed as of a living man. 

Meanwhile those judges their assize began. 

And, having, in incredibly brief time, 

Decided that in nothing save his crime 

The Duke exceeded mere humanity, 

Tree, for the first time, its own cause to try. 

So long ignored, — they peeled him, limb by 

limb, 
Bare of the mingled pomps that mantled him ; 
Stript, singed him, stabbed him, stampt upon 

^ him, smote 
His cheek, and spat upon it, slit his throat, 



ADOLPHUS, DUKE OF GU ELDERS. 451 

Crusht his big brow, and clove his crown, and left 

Adolphus, Guelders' last own Duke, bereft 

Of sepulture, and naked, on the floor 

Of the Cathedral. Where, six days or more 

He rested, rotting. What remained, indeed. 

After the rats had had their daily feed, 

Of the great Duke, some unknown hand, 't is said, 

In the town cesspool, last, deposited.* 

* " Et, comme ecrit Philippe de Comines (qui mesmes a 
6te employe en ce different par le Due Charles de Bour- 
gongne) le dit Adolph alia de nuict en plein hyver prendre 
son vieux pere hors du lict, et lui fit faire pieds nus cincq 
lieues de chemin, et le detint six mois prisonier en une pro- 
fonde et obscure prison . . . . Le Due Charles de Bour- 
gongne tacha par plusieurs fois de reconcilier le pere et le 
fils, mais en vain .... Sur quoy le fils repondit qu'il ay- 
moit mieux jeter son pere en un puits, et s'y precipiter apres 
luy que de consentir 4 un tel accord, disant que son pere 
avoit gouverne 44 ans, et que partant il estoit maintenant 
temps qu'il gouvernait aussi quelque pen." — D. Emanuel V. 
Meteren. Traduict de Flamend en Eran^oys par I. D. L. 
Haye, 1618. 

"II alia vers Tournay, ou il fut tue par les Fran^ais en une 
escarmouche, non obstant qu'il ne fit que crier Gueldre ! 
Gueldre ! ce qui luy ai-riva seloa le juste jugement de Dieu 
pour sa grande rebellion." — Ibid., Eol. 9. 



452 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 



THE DUKE'S LABORATORY. 

(a scene erom flokence in the sixteenth 

CENTURY.)* 

Persons represented. 

Francesco dei Medici. Orand Duke of Florence. 
Paolo Giordano Orsini, Duke of Bracciano. The Grand 

Duke's Brother-in-law. 
Fra Luke. The Grand Duke's Alchemist. 

{Night. Interior of the Laboratory at the Pitti.) 
ERA LUKE. 

Another moment, and 't is finisht ! Ha, 
The white precipitate begins to form ! 
We '11 set thee there, Death's Angel. Presently 
Thou shalt be sphered. 

Good ignorant folks believe 
The art of kingcraft's writ in histories 
By sages, conned from chronicles, and shaped 
I' the council chamber. Fools ! that wicked craft 

* A portion of the dialogue between Francesco and Brac- 
ciano is taken from Signor Guerrazzi's Bacconto of " Isabella 
Orsini." The Grand Duke's parting injunction to his broth- 
er-in-law is historical. The subject has been incidentally 
treated, in his " White Devil," by Webster 5 to whom one of 
his contemporary eulogists addresses these lines : — 

" Brachiano's 111, 
Murthering his Dutchesse, hath by thy rare skill 
Made him renowned." 



THE DUKE'S LABORATORY. 



453 



Lies hidden here. And who would study it 

Must be content to soil his hands .... like these ! 

(That stain hath never come away, — nor will. 

And now the story that it tells is old 

As the new fortunes of this House !).... must soil 

His hands, I say, as these be soiled, and make 

That sort of surgeon's needle of his mind 

Which may go through the bloody matter crammed 

Into these murtherous manuals of death ; 

Wherein some monk, among his crucibles, 

Hath noted down how such and such an one, 

That plotted, prospered, sinned, and still slept sound, 

Displeased a Prince on such and such a day, 

And presently men missed hini : such a lady, 

With eyes so lustrous dark, and lips so red. 

Wore roses in her bosom at the ball, 

On such a night, and whispered one that smiled 

Beside her for a moment in the dance, 

" To-morrow I await thee," then went home 

Happy, and slept, and never waked : or how 

On such a day the Conte de Virtii 

Poisoned his uncle in a dish of beans. 

With something in the salt, — which some surmise, 

Erroneously, white hellebore, but he 

That writes hath proved it arsenic. This, at least, 

Is policy in the school of Cosimo ! 

And, night by night, I, sitting here, hatch death 
Por this detested race, whose badge I wear, — 
The better to destroy them ! who, for this. 
Deem me their servant .... me, pale, patient slave 
Of one sublime Idea, that, sitting throned 
At God's right hand, looks down and laughs at 
kings, 



454 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

While the slow hours lead on her destined day, 
The Nemesis of History ! me, whose back 
Is bent to this, by culling bitter herbs 
To swell this scum, till it boil o'er, and purge 
The rising caldron of the wrath of God ! 

thou, my martyred brother, sainted soul, 
Dear murdered ghost, that, unavenged, ci'iest out 
To shame Heaven's silence, — Fra Girolamo ! 
We two were servants to the same Idea : 
Thou, in the sun ; I, in the shadow ; thou 

The judge, and I the executioner. 

Which chose the surer service 1 Didst thou deem 

Of such vile stuff as these degenerate times 

Show all men made of, to rebuild anew 

This broken Italy, and transmute to gold, 

For Freedom's crown, mixt metal so made up 

Of meanest elements '? O, too dearly paid, 

Error too noble ! This flawed crucible. 

And these dead minerals which, year by year, 

1 to ennoble have so idly toiled. 

Might teach us both the folly of that dream. 
But thou art gone. And still the rabble crowd, 
That freed Barabbas and rejected Christ, 
Caps to the common tyrant. I work on, 
Patient as Death. Because my trust is rather 
In man's crimes than his virtues. Rather here, 
With Messer Nicolo Machiavelli, brother 
(Whose book 's the bible of that bitter faith 
Thy life rejected, but thy death confirms), 
Than in the force of any single life 
To leaven this dead lump, and quicken it 
With such a heat as in thine ashes left 
The latest human hope of Florence cold, 



THE DUKE'S LABORATORY. 455 

Lost Savonarola ! Let the shames o' the time 
Increase and multiply ! the SAvifter speeds 
The hour of renovation, summonsing 
To the stern sessions of the assembled Fates 
Earth's full-grown wickednesses. 

Sons of Cain, 
Prosper, — and perish ! whiles I nurse your race 
For condemnation. I, whose eyes have seen 
The father buried, and whose hands have hope 
To sepulchre the sons ! Who takes the sword 
Shall perish by it. Be it mine to sow 
The cropping seed, whilst thou, dread harvester 
Of lusty sins, laborious Liberty, 
Whose foison is the full-eared field of Time, 
Sett'st to the sickle sharp thy scorned right hand, 
Which shall anon with unrelenting swathe 
Eeap in the ruddy upsprout. 

Hist ! Who knocks ? 

FRANCESCO {loithout). 

Francesco. 

FKA LUKE. 

Enter, Highness ! 

FRANCESCO {entering). 

Salvum tibi! 
Is the stuff ready ? 

FRA LUKE. 

Yes. But it must cool. 



456 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

FRAJfCESCO. 

0, we can wait. How many drops ? 

TEA LUKE. 

One, Highness. 

FKANCESCO. 

Is that enough ? Well, life ^s a vapor, Friar. 

Man's flesh is but the flower of the field. 

And in the midst of life we are in death. 

Last night the Cavaliere Antenori 

Expired, at Twelve. He did confess his sins. 

And died, I trust, repentant. Heaven have mercy 

Upon his soul ! 

FRA LUKE. 

Amen. What died he of ? 



An apoplexy. 



FRANCESCO. 



FEA LUKE. 



Ah, .... I comprehend ! 
The cause, — a cord abou.t the jugular. 

FEANCESCO. 

Peace, Monk ! A man dies by the hand of God. 
The scandal grew .... Why even King Philip 

writes, — 
But let that pass. De mortuis, Fra Luke, 
Nil nisi bonum. But for Eleanora .• . . . 



TEE DUKE'S LABORATORY. 457 

FKA LtJKE. 



Is this for her ? 



FRANCESCO. 



What ? what ? you question me 1 
Beware ! But I have spoken with Don Pietro. 
The honor of our brother's wife, Fra Luke ! 
By Bacchus ! and the thing is infamous. 
Let him look to it ! 

FRA LUKE. 

Ay. 

FRANCESCO. 

But he 's so light ! 
Heady and light. 'T is idle talking to him. 
And eaten up with debts. And vices. Zounds, 
'T is the most infamous knight in Christendom ! 
Without a spark of honor — piety — 
The most ungodly Good-for-naught .... 'Faith, 

Friar, 
We are not fortunate in our family, 
Nothing but scandals ! I am all day long 
Whitewashing their iniquities ; and still 
Our House stinks in men's nostrils — and they 

know it — 
Worse than a plague-pit ! 

FRA LIJKE. 

But 3^our Highness soon 
Will make it quite a whited sepulchre. 
O my good lord, how well this noble zeal 



458 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

For the fair fame of your illustrious House 
Becomes your august father's glorious son ! 
Could you but know how fervent is my faith 
In that vast woi'k, for whose accomplishment 
My soul divines in your great daily deeds 
The unanswerable warrant of High God ! 
But shrink not ! shrink not ! you have far to go, 
And much to do, — in furtherance of God's will. 
Shrink not, great Master of the Medici ! 

FRANCESCO. 

Era Luke, Fra Luke ! pray Heaven to yield us 

strength. 
"We have most painful duties to perform. 

FRA LUKE. 

My nightly prayer is that your Highness ever 
May — as you do — perform them. 

FRANCESCO. 

I have pledged 
The mother of that lad, she shall not lack 
Justice. But we must have no public prate. 
It must be done discreetly. 

FRA LUKE. 

What lad. Master ? 

FRANCESCO. 

That — Page of Isabella's — what 's his name ? 
Lelio, I think — that Tro'ilo Orsini 
Most impudently did assassinate, 



THE DUKE'S LABORATORY. 459 

With no consideration for ourselves, 

Nor for the Church of God, — For, think, Fra 

Luke! 
The brat was stabbed in our own livery, 
And died before he could his sins confess, 
In our own sister's house — before her face — 
By day — and on a Sunday ! What 's the hour "? 

FRA LUKE. 

Nigh midnight, by the Duomo clock. I heard 
Three quarters striking to the middle night, 
A little while before your Highness knocked. 



FEANCESCO. 

I '11 see him now, then. Go. The southwest wing, 
(But not by the grand staircase, for your life !) 
There 's, in the little chamber, where last stood 
That vase I sent His Catholic Majesty, — 
My porcelain — you remember ? — the new shape — 
Now waiting — you shall know him by the plume — 
A white one — in his hat — a man much injured : 
Our sister's husband, Paolo Giordano 
Orsini, of Bracciano. Bring him here 
By the masked stairway. And be careful, Monk, 
To slip the spear back in the Cupid's hand 
That 's last of all the group, Avhich, clustered, hides 
The spring I showed you, that unlocks the door 
Between the two great mirrors. (Twenty Loves 
Fighting a hare : Bianca's notion that. 
And Venice work.) The Duke and I have busi- 
ness. 
And you will find him waiting. Go. 



46o CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

FRA LUKE. 

Your Highness, 
Like the true artist, no detail neglects, 
But your least work is thorough. 

FRANCESCO. 

Flatterer ! 
We all must do what little good we can. 
Life is so short ! Be quick. 

ERA LUKE. 

(More murder !) Sir, 
Your Highness shall not wait. I '11 bring the Duke. 

[Exit Fra Luke. 

FRANCESCO (alone). 

Ay. Life is short, so short ! Brief, brief and evil ! 
O what a business have I here, to purge 
Of its bad blood this fat and pursy time. 
And keep a decent cleanness in my Court ! 
"When am I ever idle 1 Where 's the Prince 
In Christendom, whatever Philip says, 
That 's more decorous, or more circumspect 
Than I, more nicely careful to maintain 
Proper appearances in men and things, 
And yet withal, — the shame of it 's in that, — 
More harassed in his house by kindred more 
Disorderly, more thankless ! Ferdinand, — 
And he a Cardinal, and my heir, — that 's worse ! 
Curse him ! he 's nothing but a conduit, he, 
Perpetually conducting Christian coin 
Out of the coffers of my careful thrift 
Into the greasy purses of the Jews : 



THE DUKE'S LABORATORY. 461 

Making himself (a pillar of the Church !) 
Chief corner-stone o' the new Jerusalem. 
Small thanks to him, if I myself some day- 
Be not in Abraham's bosom ! Heaven knows how 
My substance goes to fatten Abraham's seed. 
And the rogues multiply ! Abram begets 
Isaac, and Isaac Jacob. Pietro, too, 
The most unblushing profligate that breathes. 
Connives, unshamed, at his own cuckledom ! 
And sister Isabella .... 'sdeath ! I '11 make 
A clean sweep this time. Let them look to it. 
'Sdeath ! even Philip shall be satisfied. 

[The clock strikes outside from the Duomo. 
Hark ! there 's another day gone. Coin by coin. 
The scrupulous Time tells out his sounding sum. 
And rings the tested metal, that he owes 
Eternity, that usurer of life, 
Which, lending little, takes our all at last. 
And gives back nothing got. 

Go, coin of time. 
No longer current ! pay in part life's loan. 
(jO, with the image of a Christian Prince 
Stamped on thee, to the treasury of Heaven ! 
Bear witness for me to the King of kings. 
That I, Francesco dei Medici, 
Grand Duke of Floi'ence by the grace of God, 
That grace requite by no disgraceful rule. 
Uphold the Church, promote Eeligion, keep 
Morality respected, and pluck off 
Even from the cherisht body of my House 
Offending limbs. Bear witness there 's no deed 
Done in the dark against Heaven's Throne, or 
mine. 



462 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

(Which to keep heavenly white is my desire,) 
But I have eyes to see it, and no place 
On earth so distant, where ill-doers hide, 
But I have arms to reach it. 

Welcome, Duke ! 

BRACCIANO [entering ivith fra luke). 

Your Highness' humble servant. What strange 

place 
Is this I stand in ? 

FRANCESCO. 

Tlie State's workshop. Sir. 
Good simple soldier, in this little cell 
The spider, Policy, all arms, all eyes. 
Spins, unperceived, the crafty web that takes 
That buzzing fool, the world. My father, Duke, 
He was a man by all mankind esteemed 
Most fortunate. His hair, before its time, 
Grew gray with study. Study of what, you wow 

der ? 
Cliemicals. Studied where 1 Here, in this cell. 
Chemistry, Soldier, trust me, is a science 
Which now-a-days we sceptre^ students need 
To study more than your rough art of war. 
But that 's beyond. Be seated, brave Bracciano. 
We prove our love and confidence in you. 
Seeing you here, where few have seen us. Sit. 

BRACCIANO. 

I wait your Highness' orders. 



THE DUKE'S LABORATORY. 463 

FRANCESCO. 

True. But stay, 
You have not slept upon the roacTfrom Rome, 
For that we thank you. 'T was not without cause 
That our despatch was urgent. But, no doubt, 
You must be tired and hungry, and in need 
Of some refreshment. Ope the door, Fra Luke. 
There 's supper in the anteroom. 

BRACCIANO. 

No, no ! 
I am not hungry. I hare supped elsewhere. 
I thank your Highness, but — 



FRANCESCO. 



Tut ! tut ! a glass 



Of Cyprus wine ? a brace of beccafiche ? 

BKACCIANO. 

My Lord, no, thank you. Savory though they be. 

These chemicals of yours scarce whet the edge 

Of a man's appetite ; and as for me, 

I have about me no digestive stuff. 

No spider paste, no powdered unicorn horn, 

Or any other kind of stimulant 

Against a too-long after-dinner sleep. 

FRANCESCO. 

Ha, ha, Bracciano ! ever sharp and merry ! 

BRACCIANO. 

No, Sir, Most sad and sober. You were pleased 



464 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

To invite me hither with some urgency 
Which yet I know no cause for. Being come 
From Rome in haste to hear them, I now wait 
Your Highness' orders. 



FRANCESCO. 

Leave us, then, Era Lvike. 
You shall be satisfied, good brotlier-in-law. 
A word, Fra Luke ! Your pardon, dear Orsini. 
But if you knew what lovers you have here 
(I and Fra Luke. Is it not so, Fra Luke ?) 
Of tlie true masters of the Tuscan tongue ! 
There 's in our private library, Fra Luke, 
Fresh from the printer's hand .... what type ! 

what type ! 
The purified and expurgated text, — 
'T is by the Cavaliere Leonardo, — 
Of the Decameron of Boccaccio. 
Be good enough to look at it. One thing 
Is sure, at least, — you will admire the type. 
And let us knoAV your mind upon the text 
Presently. On the whole, it seems to us 
The Cavaliere has succeeded well. 
And with no common skill, in no slight task. 
So many shocking and unseemly parts 
In the first nude robustness of the text 
Needing to be decorously concealed 
In flowers of language carefully arranged, 
Or from the body of the book removed 
Wholly, with such incision nice as leaves 
No beauty blemished. Look at it, Fra Luke. 
O, Avhat a fallen thing is Human Nature ! 
Alas, alas, Fra Luke ! is it not sad 



THE DUKE'S LABORATORY. 465 

That such a genius, such a man as this 

Messer Giovanni, should be damned ? And yet, 

What can we think, Fra Luke? what must we 

fear? 
Such genius with such immorality ! 
Sad! sad! 

FKA LUKE, 

The Almighty knows the world too well 
To expect five legs of mutton from a sheep. 
The best of us, in our imperfectness, 
Must largely count upon that tolerance 
In him that, having made, best knows, mankind. 
But, may it please your Highness, there's no doubt 
Messer Giovanni did repent his sins 
Upon his death-bed, and so passed in peace. 

FRANCESCO. 

Are you quite sure of that ? I am very glad. 
A man of so much genius ! And you say 
He saw, at last, Fra Luke, and did repent, 
The many errors of his pen 1 Well, well, 
Morality thus triumphs at the last. 
It comforts me to think he is not damned. 
May it be true ! 

BEACCIANO. 

('Sblood ! am I his tame hawk? 
To be held hooded on the hand of him. 
While he — the pepper merchant — ) I remind 
Your Highness that, not having- yet the honor 
To be a lackey of the Medici, 
I lack that patientness which, as it seems, 
Such ofRce craves. 

VOL. I. 30 



466 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

FRANCESCO. 

Indeed 1 
[In his ear, after surveying him a moment in silence. 

Eestrain this fire 
A moment. We must fuel it anon. 
Off then, Fra Luke, into the Library ! 
Peruse Boccaccio till we call. 

FRA LIJKE. 

I go, Sir. 
(The spider and the wasp. I back the spider.) 

[Exit Fra Luke. 

FRANCESCO. 

Be seated, Duke. Be seated. Now, to business. 

[After a pause. 
Duke of Bracciano, our good brother-in-law, 
It needs not now that we remember you 
Of our past loves, and care for your good name : 
Whose house so neighbors ours, that fire lit there 
Must burn ourselves. 

BRACCIANO. 

I know your Highness' goodness, 
And — as it merits — thank it. Pray, my lord, 
Come quickly to the matter. 

FRANCESCO. 

Sir, at once. 
Which, were it less notorious than we know it, 
I could have fain forgotten. O my lord, 



THE DUKE'S LABORATORY. 467 

We are the laughing-stock of this lewd town ! 
[ am in you offended, you in me. 
Our most unworthy sister — your worse wife — 
O'ertasks the common tongue to count up all 
Her manifold misconducts. 

BRACCIANO. 

Isabella ! 

rRANCESCO. 

No better than a strumpet, good Bracciano. 

BRACCIANO. 

Uncivil Sir, he lives not that dare say it ! 
Were 't in the Duomo's self, I 'd strangle him. 

FRANCESCO. 

O much, my lord, I must lament the cause. 
As much I do admire your noble anger. • 
And then, to think the traitor lives — 



BRACCIANO. 



FRANCESCO. 



His name? 



Who hath so wickedly abused your faith 

Too fondly given — all ties of blood — all titles 

That honor 's held by — 

BRACCIANO. 

Hell, and all its devils ! 
His name 1 his name ? 



468 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

FRANCESCO. 

Ay, that 's the worst of all. 



I am stifling. 



BRACCIANO. 
FRANCESCO. 

Though the town might tell it thee. 



BRACCIANO. 

The name, Grand Duke of Florence ? 

FRANCESCO. 

Orsini, and thy cousin. 

BRACCIANO. 

Troilo ! 

FRANCESCO. 

Most basely hath betrayed you. 



Troilo 



BRACCIANO. 



FRANCESCO. 



Bear with me. 



Ay. Realize that first. It ivill take time. 

For such things toughly task credulity 

In all men's natures, but the soldier's most ; 

Whose noble wont is never to expect 

The blow that stabs behind. But, for the proofs 

Of this bad truth .... no matter ! they can wait. 



THE DUKE'S LABORATORY. 469 

Duke, I have brooded on these wrongs of yours 
Till .... 

BRACCIANO. 

Yes. I understand. In such a place 
As this .... what must I call it, Duke of Flor- 
ence^ 

FRANCESCO. 

Grand Duke, Orsini. 

BKACCIANO. 

Certainly. Most grand ! 
In this detestable den of yours, I say, 
Where nothing wholesome is, naught 's natural 
But what is wholly monstrous. Here you hatch 
Each chance-spawned slander of the chattering 

town. 
Shut in this stew where no good air is breathed. 
Where each vile fancy cooks her foetid eggs. 
Where all abominable thoughts are brewed. 
Until at last, from brooding on these things. 
These lies .... 

FRANCESCO. 

Bracciano ! 

BRACCIANO. 

If you spake the truth 
Your countenance .... 

FRANCESCO. 

Be still, unhappy man ! 



470 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

By Bacchus ! married men are mostly fools, 
But you are an amazing maniac. 



BRACCIANO. 

Troilo ? Now I '11 tell you why I know 
That is a lie. When he and I were boys — 

FRANCESCO. 

When you and he were boys ! Are you a man ? 

BRACCIANO. 

Ay, and at nature's manly bidding spurn 
The lie which wrongs all natural manliness. 
You are deceived, my lord. I '11 not believe it. 

FRANCESCO. 

You are deceived. Most wickedly deceived. 

BRACCIANO. 

I '11 not believe it. 

FRANCESCO. 

Duke, you will: though now 
You would not. O unhappy infidel. 
Already all the town doth pity thee. 

BRACCIANO. 

That cannot be. Were this the staled jest 
Of street and tavern, as your talk implies, 
I should, myself, have heard it. 



THE D VKE S LAB OR A TORY. 47 1 

FRANCESCO, 

AYhat, at Eome ? 

BRACCIAKO. 

Why not at Rome 1 There 's talk enough in Rome 
That 's little to the credit, as it goes, 
Of the illustrious family of my wife. 

FRANCESCO. 

My lord, we know it. More behooves it us 
To silence this same talk. But married men 
Are a strange kind of asses with short ears 
That are not quickly tickled by such talk. 
It is the mercy, Duke, of Providence 
That made them thus. 

BRACCIANO. 

Prince, you may be deceived. 
Even Princes know not everything. 

FRANCESCO. 

Ay, Duke. 

But one — Francesco del Medici — 

Knows everything — at least in Florence. Much 

To you and me, my lord, it matters not 

If ti'ue or false the talk of Florence town. 

The talking town talks of us. That 's enough. 

The fault of that 's in Isabella now. 

If talk goes on, the fault will be in us. 

For we are gentlemen and Christians, Duke. 

I have a brother's duty to perform. 

And you a husband's. But the talk's all true, 



472 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

It happens, this time. By and by peruse 

These papers, Duke. And learn betimes to know 

That I know everything. 

BRACCIANO. 

Most wretched man, 
Thou buyest thy knowledge at too dear a price ! 
That which we know must make us ignorant 
Of happiness forever : ignorant 
Of wholesome human faith forevermore. 
O God, the misery of knowing this ! 
The misery of it ! 

FRANCESCO. 

Ay. 'T is bad enough. 
You see, that rascal Tro'ilo has spoiled all 
Our care to keep things quiet. But for this 
"We might have let your Duchess grow in peace 
That crop of liorns for her wise husband's head, 
Which now, I fear, must off with some sharp lop- 
ping. 
But he, the fool, for stupid jealousy 
Of some well-looking lad, a sort of Page 
Of Isabel's, I think, — no name, no name, — 
Good honest country folk his kindred are, 
And scandalized amazingly, — almost 
It makes me smile, their infinite surprise 
And indignation at what, after all, 
Was, though on his part an immense mistake, 
Yet, in its way, a kind of compliment 
From such a man as your illustrious cousin 
To their unlucky kinsman : but, you see, 
As I was telling you, from jealousy 



THE DUKE'S LABORATORY, 473 

This foolish Troilo has stabbed the youth, 
Almost in public. And, in short, the thing 
Has made an ugly talk about us all. 
And this dead cub's curst dam is shrieking out 
For law, and justice, and the devil knows what, 
To me. Grand Duke of Florence. 

BKACCIANO. 

Troilo ! 
The gentle, ever-quiet, small, weak boy 
I used to carry, when we two were young, 
Upon my back — barefooted I, and he 
Hugging ray neck, while, like a wise church daw. 
He chattered, with sagacious spriteliness 
(The sagest little man that ever was ! ) 
High up the mountain torrents ! Tro'ilo ! 
Him that I taught to ride, to fence, to swim, 
And never yet could teach an evil thing. 
Rebuked, as well my boisterous youth might be, 
By that girl's face of his ! My Tro'ilo, 
My more than cousin, sister-brother ! he 
To Avhose chaste woman-hands I gave in charge, 
As to a saint's, my honor and my home ! 

FRANCESCO. 

Most villanously hath betrayed them both. 
Bracciano, milk that 's spilt .... You know the 

proverb. 
Think only how you best may be avenged. 

• BKACCIANO. 

Avenged ? on whom ■? on what ? On all mankind, 
For being what I now must deem men all, 



474 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Traitors and knaves ? No better, sure, the rest. 
Than my most trusted friend ! All women, too ? 
For being — what my wife has proved they are, 
Tliat was the best of them I ever knew ! 
Vengeance ? on all the world ! for all the woi'ld 
Is my wrong-doer, — suffering such wrongs in it. 
Vengeance '? on Heaven ! that made, and yet main- 
tains. 
So vile a world as this. where, where, where, 
In all the armory of human wrath 
At most inhuman wrongs, shall I find arms 
Enough for such a vengeance 1 

FRANCESCO. 

Stoop thine car. 
Stay ! let me first make sure we arc unheard. 
Keyholes have ears : those ears have tongues : 

those tongues 
Utterance : and I, myself, the great arch spy, 
From parasitic spies am never free. 
No ! I have tried the doors. All 's fast ! This way. 
Now listen. 

[Whispers. 

BRACCIANO. 

Devil ! thou has poured hellfirc 
Into my veins ! 

FRANCESCO. 

Thou hast no choice, Bracciano. 

BRACCIANO. 

Forbid it, Heaven ! 



THE DUKE'S LABORATORY. 475 

FRANCESCO. 

O, Heaven doth forbid it, 
But Isabel hath done it. 

BRACCIANO. 

Misery ! 

FRANCESCO. 

Undoubtedly. But duty, not the less. 
Duty, Bracciano, duty ! 

BRACCIANO. 

And my boy. 
My innocent brat ! When he shall ask one day, 
" Father, where is my mother ? " God will listen, 
And only Hell dare answer ! 

FRANCESCO. 

Bah ! Myself, 
I '11 answer. Tush, the boy need never know : 
Or, knowing it, he shall approve the deed. 
I '11 educate him. 

BRACCIANO. 

You 1 And after death 
Must come the judgment. 

FRANCESCO. 

She is judged already. 
'Sdeath, Duke ! What wrongs ai'e mine to match 
with yours 7 



476 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Yet she I sacrifice to your just wrath 
And righteous vengeance is my sister. 



BRACCIANO. 

Ay, 
But not the mother of thy children, 0, 
If they must lose their lives, all they whose names 
Ai'e lost in credit by a losel tongue, 
There '11 be none living left to slay the rest. 
Why should I rashly ratify the word 
Of the unthinking rabble ? 

FRANCESCO. 

Caesar's wife 
(Eemember, Duke, what Suetonius says) 
He suffered not to be suspected even. 

BRACCIANO. 

Ay, man. But still he did not murder her. 

FRANCESCO. 

Hush ! murder 's not the word. 

BRACCIANO. 

O, judgment, is it ? 
Just judges are we, I and thou, Francesco ! 
Listen to me, Six*. I 'm no hypocrite. 
Whose fault Avas, first of all, this hideous coil ? 
O, do you think that I deceive myself 
Enough to be deceived by you 1 Sir, hear me. 
Here was I, Head of the Orsini, son 
Of a long line of ducal sires, whose names 



THE DUKE'S LABORATORY. ^-jj 

Were old, — incalculably old, I say. 
Before the first small Medici was dropt 
Into this world, by chance, to make what way 
Chance still might help him to find out through it. 
So far, so well. What, then, was mine to want '? 
Money. To get which, what was mine to give 1 
Just this same ducal name, and lineage old, 
With something here and there in men's esteem, 
Which, born with these. Wealth, born without it, 

buys. 
You had the wealth, you Medici : and I 
What, needing wealth, is still by wealth desired. 
So I said, — or, to say the truth, not I — 
But all friends said to me, — " This Isabel, 
A daughter of the Medici, is rich, 
Young, too, and beautiful, as all admit, 
Secure the money with the girl, Orsini ! " 
And you, — illustrious pepper-merchants all, 
Pray what said you "? O, " Let him take the 

girl. 
And take the money, whereby we take him. 
The threadbare duke, with his unbroken line 
And broken castles, — just the man we want ! " 
So much for us. The world, of course, cried. 

Bravo ! 
Clapped hands, extolled the " Suitable Alliance." 
Which one of all of us once asked himself, 
"But what, for her part, does the lady gain ? 
Has she, by chance, a heart "? and what says that ? 
Well, I believe that I have been no worse, 
If, at the best, no better on the whole. 
Than other men thus suitably allied. 
I liked my wife, admired, respected her ; 
Took it for granted she should be content 



478 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

To fill the proper place up in my life 

AVhere she was wanted, and remain therein, 

Just as you take for granted the stone saint 

Will stay, and decently demean himself, 

In that particular cathedral niche 

The ai'chitect allots him, heeding not 

The dulness or the chlllness of the place. 

And when, to crown it all, there came an heir 

Both to the money and the name to boot, 

Content with that result, which seemed the end, 

Small further cai'e about my wife had I, 

Than to select the best man I could find 

(He seemed so then) to take up and perform 

The duties — (mark ! not daring to desire 

The dear reward love's care of love receives) — 

Of guardian of the honor of a wife 

Whose spouse .... 0, there's no dearth of 

weighty cause 
For my continued absence : fame, the field. 
The Church's banner, then, the friendship vowed 
Don John, Lepanto, — man's career, in short ! 
Of course, meanwhile, with business pleasure goes : 
Of coui'se I have my mistresses : my wife 
No doubt has heard the Accorombona's name : 
But that's a trifle. All 's allowed to men. 
Of course a wife in fault has no excuse. 
Of course, although we rate the women all 
As three times weaker than our worthless selves, 
We yet expect, we have the right to expect. 
That they shall be thrice stronger. Wherefore 

nof? 
Man can appeal to man. Woman to whom ? 
Man 's both her judge and executioner. 
Woe to her if she slips ! Just judges we ! 



THE DUKES LABORATORY. 479 

FBANCESCO. 

Bracciano, all this .... 

BKACCIANO. 

Interrupt me not ! 
You 're in the way of it. Your turn is coming. 
For what was my worst, maddest, wickedest 
Of all mistakes '? To dream that I could leave, 
Even for an hour, with hope to find again, 
Man's honesty or woman's virtue, here 
In the foul precincts of this cursed Court, 
Where all the air 's one malady, and all 
That hreathe it are distempered ! here, I say. 
Where every shape and kind of wickedness, 
Tor which the name 's to find yet, grows and 

thrives. 
And at the top of all its hateful growth, 
Ped with the sinful sap of all the rest, 
Puts forth the crowning vice, — Hypocrisy ! 
Ha, ha ! Grand Duke of Florence, I thank God 
Por one thing heartily ! I have made you wince, 
And writhe, like the tormented snake you are. 
You hate me ; and I know a way to hurt you : 
That comforts m.e a little. Hypocrite ! 
Do you begin to feel that, after all. 
The Devil 's not so safe in Hell, but what 
A ray of Heaven gets at him now and then, 
And stings him through all custom 7 

FRANCESCO. 

Madman, and fool ! 
Do you forget that you are in my power 1 



48o CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

BRACCIANO. 

I forget nothing. But you lie, Grand Duke. 

Out of your power I have passed away 

Forever, and you know it, this sad night. 

How can you hurt me 1 you have done your worst. 

You cannot hurt my wife. I have no wife. 

My son ? I know not if I have a son. 

The adulteress has one. Would you hurt ni}'- friends ? 

There 's no man in the world I love or trust. 

My name ? Disgraced already, you aver. 

My life 1 What ^s life worth, lacking what mine 

lacks ? 
But you '11 NOT take my life. First, for you cannot. 
Easier could I kill you than you kill me. 
We are alone, just now. Besides, I know. 
And you know, that you dare not. Still to you 
My life 's more useful than my death can be. 
To me 't is useless now. Away with lies, 
So thoroughly worn out, they but show the truth 
They should conceal ! Francesco, to speak plain. 
We do not love each other, never did ; 
But all we ever had in common still 
Remains to us. Community of wrong. 

FRANCESCO. 

Community of interest. 

BRACCIANO. 

As you please. 
And so to finish this vile work of ours. 
Only, for Heaven's sake. Sir, no fine names ! 
If all that you have said be true .... 



THE DUKE'S LABORATORY. 481 

FKANCESCO. 

It is. 
Convince yourself. The proofs are in your hand. 

BEACCIAlSrO. 

Presently. 'T is the custom of our House. 
And I '11 have surer warrant. Her own lips, 
Not mine — not yours — no lips, no lips but heiji 
Shall sound the sentence, if confessed the crime. 
My sentence ! For the punishment is mine. 
As mine the fault was. She must die. 

FRANCESCO. 

That 's sense. 

BKACCIANO. 

Die ! yes. And then my punishment begins. 
For I must live. There 's punishment for both. 
Duke, .... you have dealings with that sort of 

— men 
I would not call tliem : yet there 's ne'er a rogue 
In Florence, but, I doubt not he is worth 
As much as any other honest man ! 
Pray, did you ever notice carefully 
A hangman's countenance 1 I try to think 
That I am altogether passed away 
So far out of all human sense of what 
My misery is, that I may dare assume 
The inexorably stern judicial mood 
Of God's Destroying Angel. You are witness 
I have already judged, and have condemned, 
Myself, — or rather say, the man I w.is 
Once, and can never be again. Not he, 
I try to think, — not he, but that man's judge, 

VOL. I. 31 



482 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Ascends the justice seat and summons forth 
Unhappy Isabc41a to her doom. 
But there 's a something left of man in me, — 
I know not what, — 't is strangely out of place, — 
That troubles all. And, turn which way I will, 
These hands of mine still seem a hangman's hands. 
And we two, here, conspirators, — worse, worse. 
Cut-throats ! and she our victim. Why is that T 

FRANCESCO. 

Because you are a simpleton. Because 
Your mind, just now, puts all things out of place, 
And your life's habit has not helped your will 
To put them promptly in their places back. 
I see in all this, — and see nothing else, — 
Plainly, a duty, —painful, I admit. 
Painful to me, no less, sir, than to you, 
But still a duty, to be done, and done 
At once, and, once done, straight from thought dis- 
missed. 
The duty 's ours : the consequence is not. 
Was Abraham careful of the consequence 
When, to please God, he sacrificed his son 1 
Or did he call himself a murderer ? 
Yet Abraham's son was guiltless. As for you, 
Your wife is guilty. There 's no doubt of that. 
You choose to call merely " fine names " what are 
Really fine feelings. You are thoroughly wrong : 
For are we Christian gentlemen, or not 1 
That 's the sole point, Duke. 



BRACCIANO. 

If we be, I say 



God help the times ! 



THE DUKE'S LABORATORY. 483 

FRANCESCO. 

Amen. God help the times ! 
God help us all ! And most of all, help me ! 
That have the most to bear of all of jou. 
And, Duke^you wrong me. Hypocrite I 'm not. 
The world leaves its chief actors no such choice 
As you may fancy, how to act their parts. 
Dissimulation is imposed on us. 
And, let me tell you, there are certain signs 
Already in the crowd, — I can't say what, 
\feel them, — that our parts must be played off 
Quickly, I think I can, at times, detect 
A certain ominous stir about the mass : 
Strange faces with uncomfortable eyes : 
New-comers, whom their places do not please : 
Vague sounds not Avholly satisfactory : 
A restlessness that .... "Well, it matters not ! 
I shall have played my part out, anyhow. 
Let after-comers manage as they may. 
Our stage is old. One of these days, perchance, 
It may give way, and there '11 be broken bones. 
I shall have strutted off it. Hypocrite 
I am not. But profound dissimulator, 
Yes. That 's my part. And hypocrite to you ! 
To you at least I have been frank enough. 
Outspoken, like the friendly gentleman 
You '11 have occasion yet to find I am. 
But your unhappy state excuses all. 
You '11 sober, and be sorry by and by. 
In thus consulting you, thus timely, thus 
Treely and unreservedly, on what 
Is after all a matter that concerns. 
With or without your leave, or any man's, 



484 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Ourselves in chief, (for Isabel 's our stuff,) 
We think that we have shown you full regard, 
Eriendly and honorable confidence, 
Deserving recognition. Aught, unknown 
To you, we would not willingly have done. 
But, knowing what you know, if it would ease 
The sort of natural trouble your unuse 
To such necessities now suffers, Duke, 
We '11 rid your hands of what remains to do, 
And undertake .... 

BKACCIANO. 

No, no ! not you ! not you ! 
To you 't would be no punishment. To me 
'T is punishment already. 

FKANCESCO. 

As you will. 
But you 're so hot ! You '11 blunder, I half fear. 
I need not say, do nothing unconvinced. 
Convinced you will be. But remember, Duke, 
No public talk, no scandal ! Nothing rude. 
Conspicuous, unseemly ! What 's to do 
Must be discreetly done. Ha, by the way, 
My brother Ferdinand writes me word, Bracciano, 
That you ai'e much indebted : sorely prest 
To make good certain obligations due, 
Nor longer now renewable. Is that true ? 

BRACCIANO. 

Pish ! yes. 

FRANCESCO. 

Well, Duke, we 'II settle this for vou 



THE DUKE'S LABORATORY. 485 

Count up your debts. Ah, if you only knew 
How you have wronged us ! But you '11 find that 

out. 
Count up your debts. We '11 pay them. 

BEACCIANO. 

Peace ! What 's left 
For me to care for'? Let the roof-tree fall, 
Now all beneath it 's buried ! all, all, all ! 

FRANCESCO. 

You must not think, of things so sullenly. 
But as a man that 's master of his wrongs, 
And greater even than the greatness of them. 
Rouse ! rouse ! 

BRACCIANO. 

Francesco, I will tell you now 
A thing will give you pleasure. Take it, fiend ! 
'T is the last pleasure you will get from me. 
I think, if I were capable just now 
Of any feeling in the least like joy, 
'T would be to know that you were miscralble 
Beyond endurance : therefore I suppose, 
Since no less cordially do you hate me 
Than I hate you, 't will give you pleasure, too. 
To hear what I shall say. I said erewhile 
I liked my wife, admired, respected her. 
That 's over. I cannot respect her now, 
Admire, or like her. All that 's worlds aAvay ! 
But what do you suppose I am going to do 
Presently, when I leave this den ? To murder 



486 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

The woman that I love ! love, love, do you hear 1 

I never loved her when I thought her pure. 

I know her not pure now. I love her now. 

And I am going to murder her. Laugh, fiend ! 

You see that I am miserable enough. 

Make much of that. Mine she was yesterday, 

And yesterday I was an honest man. 

I did not love her then. I loved myself. 

All 's changed. She is mine no more : we both 

are lost. 
For, losing her, I have lost myself. To-night 
I, with the murderer's heart in me already, 
Love her, the harlot that I go to kill. 
Have that writ down by some choice Tuscan 

scribe, 
A drama for the Devil to chuckle at : 
A devil's drama, for a devil's delight, 
Acted by devils damned beyond redemption ! 

rRANCESCO. 

The heart of man 's a mystery ! 

BRACCIANO. 

All 's so clear ! 
The Might-have-been, which never can be noAv, 
The Must-be-now, which never could have been, 
Were 't not that knowledge ever comes too late, 
And all that 's good is, in this wretched world, 
Good missed ! Why came I in such haste from 

Eome? 
Not at your mandate : though your missive seemed 
The pretext still. For I was thoroughly tired 
Of what had been. 'T is not, I think, in you 



THE DUKE'S LABORATORY. 487 

To understand how it should come about 
That sometimes in the sudden midst of all 
The busy so-called waking life of a man, 
There slides across the spirit that 's moving it 
A silent, instantaneous, dream-like change : 
Born, as in dreams such changes are, perchance 
Of something. Heaven knows what, so small, so 

small, 
That with a mystic trouble turns aside 
Suddenly the main currents of the mind : 
The look in a dog's eyes : a stranger's talk : 
The death of some man that you never knew : 
Less, less than that ! chance odors after rain, 
Or old-new colors in an evening sky, 
And all at once the Present is the Past, 
The Past the Present, and the Future all 
One nameless yearning to recapture .... what ? 
Ah, that 's the question ! But with me 't was Home, 
A resting from the nowhere-leading ways 
Of feverish Life's sick walking up and down. 
Peace, and the quiet-hearted household loves ! 

FKANCESCO. 

Marry again then ! 

BKACCIANO. 

Plaudits ! vdlete ! 
All 's as it should be here. The play 's com- 
plete. 
Look round, admire the order of the parts ! 
Is not all Florence represented here 1 
The art of murdering and concealing murder, 



488 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Called statecraft by this time's complacent voice, 
Behold, on yonder silent shelves all round, 
Its speechless representatives ! The rest '? 
O, all the rest ^s in our two persons played ! 
Behold the Personages of the Age : 
Conspirator, Assassin, Hypocrite, 
Prince without truth, and Subject without trust. 
As for the People, it is quite as much 
Visible here as elsewhere, just at present : 
The People's part is properly left out : 
The Prostitute 's behind the scenes : the Spy, 
The Cuckold, — all are here, I think, and all 
Are represented worthily. What else 
Is wanting '? 

FRANCESCO. 

Ho ! Fra Luke ! 



BRACCIANO. 



The Church ! 



True, I forgot. 



FRANCESCO. 

What ho ! Fra Luke ! Fra Luke, I say ! 

FRA LUKE {entering). 

(They have not killed each other ? no sucli 

luck! 
I had a vague sweet hope of some such thing.) 
Your Highness called me ? 



THE DUKE'S LABORATORY. 489 
FRANCESCO. 

Well ■? The New Edition 1 



What of it, Friar ? 

FRA LUKE. 

I like ever best 
Each last Edition of what I may call 
Your Highness' careful study and extreme care 
To improve, suppress, eradicate what needs 
The pruning-knife of strict Morality, 
This world's rank garden's wary weeder. 

FRANCESCO. 

Ah! 

I am glad that we appear to have done well. 
Dear, dear Bracciano ! so then you must go ? 
Well, 't were but cruel kindness on our part 
To keep you any longer from the home 
Where those that love you there have so long 

missed 
Your welcome presence. 0, sir, we expect 
To hear of famous doings presently, — 
Prompt slayiug of the fatted calf, — what not ? 
All sorts of welcomes to this best event ! 
Heaven bless you, dear Bracciano ! 

FRA LUKE. 

(Strange! He knows 
That I know all. Yet, for the life of him. 
The habit of hypocrisy so sticks. 
He cannot help pretending to deceive me ) 



490 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

FKANCESCO. 

Conduct the Duke, Era Luke. The Duke 's im- 
patient. 
And, dear Bracciano, I 'm so glad, so glad 
That, as regards the trifle we discussed. 
We are of one mind wholly. And the money, 
The money shall be paid. Zounds ! it would be 
Abominable, unchristian, if we left 
In the curst clutches of those rascally Jews 
A moment longer our dear sister's husband. 
Go ! joy be with you. Stay, one parting word ! 
When of the odious truth you are assured, 
I pray you. Sir, remember that you are 
A gentleman and a Christian. 

BRACCIANO. 

Heaven and earth ! 

FRA LUKE. 

(I backed the spider. Well, the spider wins !) 
This way, illustrious Senior Duke ! this way. 

{Exeunt Bracciano and Fra Luke. 

FRANCESCO {alone). 

Bluster ! all bluster ! For I hold him fast. 
Astonishing ! how soon a man forgets 
Debts to Despair. Before a month is past 
I shall be prayed to pay his other debts. 
Almost as desperate. They ai'e all the same. 
'T were well to have him watched, though, till he 's 
tame. 



THE DUKE'S LABORATORY. 



491 



!Poor fellow ! 't is so fresh to him, all this. 

"Well, now that 's off our mind which weighs on his. 

Suscipiunt monies pacem populo 1 

Servite Dominum in Icetitia. So 

Jacta est alea, the bolt is sped. 

A litany now : and then, content, to bed ! 



493 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

VANINI* 

LECTURES BEFORE THE SORBONNE. 
(PARIS, SIXTEENTH CENTURY.) 




iELCOME, clear friends ! . . . . though to 
a stranger's heart ! 
For, 'mid your fair French faces, as they 
throng 

Fast, fast about me, I perceive — if not 
The name of Italy encharactered, 

* Lucilio (self-styled Julius Csesar, and Pompeius) Vanini 
was one of that numerous Army of Martyrs who have been can- 
onized by no church. Murdered by the Parliament of Tou- 
louse upon an infamous and unfounded charge of Atheism, 
his memory has been calumniated by the few and forgotten by 
the many. I think that no reader of his " Dialogues " will 
accuse me of exaggerating the vanity of the man. It was ex- 
cessive, but not ignoble ; and to it I am disposed to attribute 
much of the heroism with which he endured torture and faced 
death. When we remember that his martyrdom and murder 
were justified by their perpetrators on the grounds of the au- 
dacious freedom with which Vanini had expressed un-orthodox 
opinions, the excessive caution and timidity of all his writings 
significantly illustrate what was considered " freedom of 
thought " in the sixteenth century. On being accused of Athe- 
ism by his judges, he picked a straw from the ground, and 
proceeded, by arguments which would probably have satisfied 
Paley, to demonstrate the existence of God from the existence 
of the straw. Those arguments, however, did not satisfy the' 
tribunal, which condemned him, first to have his tongue cut 
out, and then to be burned alive. He went through it all, and 
died " cheerfully for the sake of Philosophy," as he said, 



VANINL 



493 



Such as her sultry suns with swarthy finger 

Upon my own have traced it — yet the eye 

Of keen inquiry, and the eager cheek, 

Native to such as Nature's hand hews out 

From her unfeatured and inglorious mass, 

For common kindred in the shining hand 

Of those that both desire and dare to know ! 

Therefore I take you to my heart of hearts : 

High peers, whose brows by Thought are privileged 

To owe no homage to the narrow zones 

Of partial Place, and casual Circumstance, 

But hold high colloquy with those supreme 

And solitary Spirits which allow 

No bondage of the branding zodiac 

To limit their hereditary realms 

In universal space ! Therefore, I bid 

My best self, freely, to your fellowship : 

And as, within the mystic circle traced 

By Persic priests, the affable Genius 

(Appeased by myrrhy fumes that please him well) 

Doth, to delight each mild-eyed Magian, 

Unpack the treasures of the ransackt world. 

Else hutchtfrom sight 'twixt either sleeping pole, — 

Gold, by winged gryphons for Abassin kings 

Guarded in mountain treasure-houses deep, 

Great wizard gems from Solomon's thumb ring, 

And sea-green marbles from Caucasian mines. 

Thick-veined with white fire ; — so, sweet Mages, I, 

Lured by your loves, do at your feet lay low 

with a heroism never surpassed and rarely equalled by any 
of those martyrs who are admired as brave men because they 
died in vindication — not of Doubt — but of a Faith which 
promised them immediate beatitude. Yet consider the differ- 
ence ! 



494 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

The spoils from Science filched by stealthy toil ; 
Rai-e secrets of the starry universe, 
Flying around the centre, and what dwells 
Deep in the undivulged mind of man. 

I mark the wonder widening in your eyes 

As they turn to me, wistful what comes next ; 

And hear you murmuring, as my spirit moves 

Among you like the unseen wind that blows 

To billowy toil full-bearded harvest fields. 

" Can it be true ? " ye ask yourselves, . . . . " The 

man 
Before you, with the scarcely wrinkled brow 
And yet unsilvered hair, — can he have reached 
So soon the cloudy summits that command 
That spacious prospect which the hoary sage 
Scarce sees before he sinks into the grave ? 
How many cycles in the wilderness 
Did Moses wander, leading right and left 
His puzzled followers, till, fatigued to death. 
He, from the top of Pisgah gazing, saw 
The Promised Land, and died. Yet hath the man 
That stands before you, speaking like a voice 
Out of the sundered stars, imperative. 
Some years of youth still left to fling away." 
And so ye marvel. And I marvel not 
That ye delay to put aside all doubt. 
Because I know that half the Prophet's power 
Upon the multitude (though ye, indeed, 
I count not of the many, but the few) 
Lies in the lifted rod, the flowing robe, 
The hoary beard, and many-furrowed brow. 
Yet, friends, 't is true, — all true ! The man }'c 

see me. 



VAN IN I. 495 

Such as I am, I have attained the end 
And eminence of all the sciences. 
A spirit zoned with the nine-folded spheres, 
That in his right hand turns the rolling globe 
Around, for pastime, — I command the Powers 
That hide within the heights and depths of things, 
Not easily commanded. In a w^ord. 
Whatever may be known by man, I know. 

Yes ! I, the Italian Doctor, Julius Ceesar 

Lucilio Vanini, whom you know 

Already by no casual report. 

Have, by much study, travel, and strong thought, 

Mastered in some few thirty years, or less. 

Philosophy and physics ; medicals ; 

Theology ; and law, in both its branches, 

The civil and the canon ; (for who knows not 

That in utroque jure I am Doctor?) 

All schools of East or West; anatomy; 

Mechanics ; mathematics ; music ; all 

Poets, grammarians, and historians ; 

Natural magic, and astronomy. 

Astrology ; with what from these a man 

May further fashion, in the advance of time, 

By sharp experience of himself, to add 

Knowledge to knowledge. Also I haA'e writ 

Ou Free Will, Fate, and Providence, confuting 

Whatever was by others said before 

Upon these subjects, and constraining those 

That read my books to burn their own : besides 

Two dialogues on the contempt of glory, 

Which, that I do not crave a vain renown, 

But have sought Science for her own sweet sake, 

Shall witness for me to all candid minds : 



496 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

And, — so you shall not fear that I indulge 

Such froward spirit as our Holy Church 

Not seldom in her children hath reproved, 

Prodigals that forsake the Father's board 

To feed, and starve, on miserable husks, — 

A long Apology — Concilio 

Pro Tridentino — of the Council, and 

Decrees of Trent ; with many other matters, 

Fully discoursed. Which books, whoe'er will read 

them, 
May at the Fair in Frankfort easily 
Obtain, through any merchant of this town. 
And I have visited the greater part 
Of Europe. I have traversed Italy, 
Whereof no city is to me unknown. 
Nor I to it. In Holland, Germany, 
And England, every University 
I have both seen, and sometime studied there. 
Nay, was I not the chosen and the chief 
Disciple of the English Carmelite, 
John Bacon, prince of the Averroists 1 
kSo that .... albeit I would not have you deem 
I in pretension do exceed the pith 
And marrow of performance, nor indeed 
That, whatsoe'er it may be I have done, 
I have done more than any man may do. 
Let him but love, as I loved. Learning more 
Than house, or lands, or any other good, 
(Albeit such fervor is not to be found 
In men of insufficient elements,) .... 
I dare affirm what I erewhile averred. 
That whatsoe'er a man may know, I know. 

And as for Pomponat, men's present Mentor, 



VANINL 



497 



He, and Averroes, whom he but follows — 

(Although I would not count them less than kings 

Whose erudition and audacity 

Hath made them half to be esteemed as gods) — 

Let these, with Cardan, and I will not name 

How many more that be their vavasours, 

Sit at my feet forever, and be dumb ! 

My worst is better than the best of theirs. 

(Believe I do not boast!) for they, indeed, 

Have but rough-guessed the ways which I have 

paved 
With ponderous fact, and irrefragable 
Results, accumulated carefully. 
To distances divined not by these men. 
Which you shall also, if you will, reach with me : 
For what I know I would to all make known : 
And what I have would share with who will have it : 
Since knowledge by division grows to more. 
Is it not written that the Teachers — they 
That have turned many to the light — shall shine 
Like stars in heaven ? Which shine not for them- 
selves 
But for the illumination of mankind. 
Only believe me ! 

Yet, for all, I see 
That you do think I boast myself beyond 
The stretch of my deserving. If, good friends, 
You deem it thus, believe me you do wrong 
Me first, — and, in the consequence, yourselves ! 
For I conceive there 's nothing more beseems 
A teacher, than assurance of the worth 
Of what he teaclies, and his own to teach it. 
On these two points behooves the man to have 
VOL. I. 32 



498 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

No doubt whatever. If lie doubt himself, 

Let him be dumb and put belief in others. 

For all his right to speak is in the right 

Of what he can speak to be boldly spoken : 

And, therefore, reverently listened to. 

Whence, if his worth be furnished with fair titles 

Both to his own and other men's good credence, 

He cannot too conspicuously show them. 

There 's naught but such conviction as rejects 

All question of it, that what 's now to say 

Is better worth the saying than all else 

By others said before it, justifies 

Infraction of that silence which befits 

A man in presence of the universe, 

The stai-s above him, and the graves below. 

Therefore, my masters, I am bold to speak ; 

This boldness (which, were it less positive. 

Would stand in silence) being, as you see. 

The only right which I admit myself 

To speak at all. Be mine bold speech, or none. 

O, I have seen in Professorial Chairs 

How much of mock humility, lip-lowliness 

Mouthing it thus ....'< The Grace of God forbid 

We should be overbold to lay rough hands 

On any man's opinion. For opinions 

Are, certes, venerable properties,. 

And those which show the most decrepitude 

Should have the gentlest handling. Yes, good sirs. 

We have that sort of courtesy about us, 

We would not, flatly, call a fool a fool, 

Nor wrong all wrong, nor right entirely right, 

Lest we affirm too much. You shall not find us 

Of such an ovcrv/cening arrogance 



VAN IN I. 499 

That wc should swear, because we are disposed 
To this or that conclusion, that it needs 
Must better yours. We think that we are right : 
We may be wrong : we doubt you are in error : 
You may be right. Civility forbids 
Insistance on harsh terms." Civility 
Therefore goes sidling, with a glance asquint 
'Twixt true and false, along her slippeiy road. 
Which is the road to Hell, the Home of Lies ! 

Yet will some wise and moderate good man 
Make answer, that to no one living soul 
Is absolute truth vouchsafed, and this alone 
Is absolutely certain. Granted, friend. 
Yet he is absolutely right or wrong- 
That dares, or dares not, follow to the end 
And utterly use the whole o' the truth he hath. 
For there be many that, in face of Truth 
Fear her imperative aspect, and affirm, 
" This customary falseliood is a thing 
More safe than that uncustomary truth " ; 
Or, " Only thus and thus much of the truth 
Is competent of usage," having not 
Within themselves true love of truth, nor yet 
The courage of the consequence of thought. 
This is the approved philosophy of fools, 
Of which you shall hear nothing from my lips, 
For half-trutlis need no teaching from this chair. 
The craft of cowardice, the world's vile promptings, 
The glare of false authority, the fear 
Of exile, prisons, halters, and the rack, 
These teach the customary compromise 
'Twixt true and false ; and find in every land 
Sufficient school, without the added weight 



500 CIIROXICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Of verdict from the lips of men, not vile 

By nature, who, though none regard their speech, 

Must speak undaunted, or not speak at all. 

Most men, indeed, believe in something better 

Than their own actions ; and conciliate 

The world bj acting worse than they believe ; 

And all men even their best actions base 

On something worse than is their best Belief; 

Yet hope to mollify the scorn of God, 

Because their thoughts are better than their acts, 

And their beliefs more blameless than their lives. 

This needs no teaching. This is the world's wisdom. 

But, when the Teacher speaks, he speaks as one 

That knows his audience in the universe 

Is not of this world only ; but perchance 

Millions of starry spirits beyond the sun 

Pause o'er their planetary toil to lean 

And listen to him. If he speak the truth 

Truly, his speech is as a trenchant sword 

To cut the world asunder to the heart. 

And take its stealthy secrets by. surprise. 

So let him stand up stern, as on a rock. 

Like Joshua when he lield the sun and moon 

In Ajalon and Gibeon, till he ceased 

To smite the Amorite before the Lord. 

No more ignoble powers, no lesser laws 

Can hurt his sacred head Avhom Nature's own 

Eternal and divine supremacies 

Safeguard with unseen cohorts to the end. 

For wherefore should we call yoii here, to gaze 
In sober earnest, and some shuddering. 
Upon this dreadful combat of the gods, — 
This conflict of resistant Error armed 



VAN IN I. 501 

Against resistless Truth, on all sides round, 

Not ended till the world be won or lost 1 

Why bid you mark severe Minerva there ? 

Here snaky Typhon, — both at horrible handgrips ? 

If, to assuage amazement, and restore 

The careless satisfaction we were bold 

Thus to bi*eak in on with the horrid news, 

"We lightly whisper, — just when the heart stops 

And the veins tighten with the hideous thought 

Of what 's depending on the deadly issue, — 

" Eriends, hei'e 's no cause to fear yon grisly god, 

For all his savage show his claws be clipped. 

Athene's angry spear can draw no blood. 

It being buttoned like your fencing foils. 

And this tremendous spectacle, which shakes 

The ample theatres of Heaven and Hell, 

Is but a mock-heroic at the most." 

Ye gods ! if this be thus, and only thus, 

Why then, I cry i' the name of all men's patience, 

You impudent knaves that play the herald's part, 

Sound ye your brawling trumpets in our ears 

So shrilly 1 Why do you, unmannerly thus, 

Eouse us from slumber, scare us from our business 

Of feasting, fooling, and forgetting all things, 

To cry the house a-fire 1 Or why drag hither 

Grave men, grown men, gray men, with cares 

enough. 
And griefs enough, and grievances enough. 
To try the nerves of those that have the stoutest, 
Merely to cheat us of our hard-earned rest 
With your preposterous puppetiugs ! 

Good frieg^ds, 
I will not use you thus, I warrant you. 



502 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

But you shall have hard fighting, and real blows. 
Not dealt in vain. For, by the help of God, 
We will this day Goliaths more than one 
Destroy forever from the Field of Truth. — 
If you '11 believe me ! — 

Nay ! but neither think, 
Because I have put off humility 
Before I stept into this Chair of Doctrine, 
That therefore I, with idle arrogance 
Aspire to hit the stars ; revering not 
The worth of modest-mindedness inman. 
Not so. I have been humble more than most. 
Whiles I was yet a learning, I was humble. 
Then, my humility was such as suits 
A lover when he sues : which I put off 
To dothe me with the pride that lover feels 
When afterwards, he having won that wooed. 
His love lives in possession. I might tell 
Of days and nights of painful patientness 
In Padua ; when, a beardless boy, I braved 
Sharp winter's biting in a threadbare coat. 
And, late and early, trimmed a lonely lamp 
With toilful tendance ; sat at all men's feet ; 
And read from all men's books right reverently ; 
And lived to learn ; and learned from all that lived ; 
And held myself the least of little ones, 
Not worthy to be seated at the board. 
Grateful to cram what charitable crumbs 
Fell from o'erflowing trenchers to my lot ; 
While nothing but the daily doled-out crust 
(A frail and miserable alms !) appeased 
The begging of the body, barely heard. 
But love makes warmth and fulness everv where. 



VANINL 503 

The lover lives on love luxuriously, 

And lacks for nothing. be very sure 

That no man will learn anything at all, 

Unless he first will learn humility. 

The humblest mounts the highest. Who would 

scale 
The skyey Alp must go afoot. The vain 
And arrogant man may drive his gilded coach 
Across the plain, gazed by the servile crowd, 
But, Avould he mount that mighty eminence, 
He must alight, and foot it with slow steps. 
Therefore I say, .... Be humble, — to be high ! 

And I will tell you, — I that have, O friends, 
Read many books, and written not a few, — 
This is a secret. Tell it not in Gath, 
O very reverend Doctors of Sorbonne ! . 

A man may cram his brains with libraries. 
And yet know nothing. 

Whence comes Knowledge 1 think ! 
By reading? No : by thinking on things read. 
By seeing "? No : by thinking on things seen. 
Nor hearing, but by thinking on things heard. 
Yet half the first-class writers I have read 
Are merely setters forth — not of their own. 
But other men's stale thinkings : second-hand 
Emplovers of spent brains ! Is Thought so easy ? 
Try! " 

Take some simple, obvious object here, 
And think it. Think the wall. 

What ! you are silent ? 
You cannot 1 

Yet although you cannot think 
This simple wall that stares you in the face. 



504 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

You can think Plato and Pythagoras, 
Zeno, and Aristotle, Epicurus, 
Plotinus, Jamblicus, Tliemistius, 
Thales, Parmenides, — and the Lord knows whom. 
That is to say, you can think second-hand. 
Well then, friends, now let us learn to think ! 
Think anything. But only thinh. For, see you ? 
.There 's nothing of so singular, nor mean 
Condition in this universe, but what 
It doth include, and, in a sort, continue 
The fact of something greater than itself. 
Nay, of the Very Greatest. Nothing is, 
But by the having been of something else, 
Which something else, the cause of this thing here, 
Is, in its turn, the effect of something elsewhere. 
Thus we the higher in the lower perceive ; 
From each obtain intelligence of all ; 
And find in all the consciousness of each. 
Por all which is, by reason that it is, 
And is itself, not other than itself, 
Defines itself; and, being definite, 
Must be perceivable at some one point, 
If but no more, on which perception acts, 
Whether of bodily sense, or mental force. 
Away, then, with the indefinite, from thought, 
Which is the non-existent. What exists. 
Acts ; and what acts gives notice of itself 
To all existence, acting thus or thus 
Conformably to laws that govern all 
Existence. Acts are laws : no law, no act. 
Therefore, be sure that whatsoever is 
Man's thought is competent, if not to know. 
At least to know of. And the Infinite 
Appears, reported by its parts, to be 



VANINL 505 

The Finite infinitely multiplied, 
Extended infinitely every way. 

Think, and all things become confederates 
To the thought in you. For the Thinking-Power 
Is of such pregnant faculty, it imbues 
All things, or can from all things extricate. 
And stir to answerable activity, 
Some portion of the essential consciousness. 
Upon the dumb, long inarticulate earth 
Descends the gift of prophecy and tongues : 
The smallest fact, — the last in consequence 
Of the supreme procession of events, — 
Mere garniture of life's superfluous pomp. 
Becomes a willing spy upon the track 
Of its more potent predecessor, gone 
Most likely in a grand indifference by : 
The dust grows dainty with divinity : 
The limpet has surmises of the huge 
Enormous-backed sea-violencing whale : 
He, of Behemoth in the days when God 
Held colloquies upon the Chaldee plains 
With the vexed Uzzite : the dull-hearted ox 
Hath 'in him legends of his father-race. 
Those monstrous and imaginary forms 
That frightened Adam when the bitten fruit 
Turned sour between his teeth, and thunder Low- 
ered. 
The sand-grain in his dreams divines the stars. 
The very stones are garrulously given. 
And babble to each other in the moon 
The story of the waters that of old 
Rolled Noe's ark on Ararat. Perchance 
The poising of a pebble that a child 



5o6 CHRONICLES AND CHARACTERS. 

Sends from his sling in swift parabola, 

Interprets in a tongue that 's yet to learn 

The fiat that gave motion to the stars. 

So that this volatile fluid of the brain, 

This flux of thought, like streams compelled to seek 

The level of their sources, flowing forth 

No matter by what channels, through what fields, 

Is by each course constrained towards the height 

Prom whence it issued, and mounts up to God. 

Ha ! there you smile, and bring your faces all 

To bear on mine ; like men who, imawares. 

And by a sudden happy chance, detect 

In some familiar object, grown a blank 

By being looked at carelessly too often, 

A novel feature, not before divulged. 

Why, this is well. And, since we all are here 

To use our wits, friends, let us use them sharply 

And to some purpose : not as your mere swords 

Of ceremony, shut up safe in velvet, 

Tawdry and tedious appendages, 

Put on for show, and put aside for comfort ! 

I see you take my humor by this time. 

Good ! and your faces brighten, and your eVes 

Glitter, as stars do in a good sharp wind. 

Sharp 1 why, what else should be the atmosphere 

Of vigorous spirits ? 

You believe me, friends ? 
You do believe me ! 

Ay, I always felt 
That I should find in France my own compeers. 
The finest and most eager spirits of men ! 
Some guiding angel drcAV me in my dreams 
To choose this land for mv abiding home. 



VANINI. 



5°7 



I loved you ere I knew you ; know you now, 
And, having known you, love you better still. 
Gather, then, close about me, all of you ! 
You, there, bright youth with sunbeams in your 

hair, 
And you, grave sir, with eyes like icicles. 
Come round me, one and all ... . close ! closer 

still ! 
Let not a word escape ! 

We will discourse 
This day of the Eternal Providence. 
Clap all your pens to paper, and write down : — 

*' Amphitheatrum Providentice 
Efernce christiano-jihysicum, 
Divino-magicum, astrologico- 
Catholicum ; adversus veteres 
Philosophos, peripateticos, 
Epicureos, atheos, stoicos." 

Good ! Have you written ? Now attend. 

We thus 
Begin with the Beginning. Which is God. 



END OF VOL. I. 



Cambridge : Printed by Welch, Bigelow, &; Co. 






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